


Harry Potter and the Great Fish Fry

by Mossbraker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Jokes, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 22,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26680549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossbraker/pseuds/Mossbraker
Summary: Harry Potter had a difficult time in school. So he decides the best thing for himself is to drop out of Hogwarts and become a dishwasher at the local Fish Fry. Eventually Harry x Cedric. Eventually Fish Dudley.
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter one: Birth of a Fisherman

Author’s note: I have only read the first three books, so please keep that in mind. I don’t know anything about how Harry Potter will end. 

Harry Potter had a difficult time at his wizarding school, Hogwarts. The first year, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had a dark wizarding lord on the back of his head. In addition to being gross and unsanitary, the dark wizard had tried to kill Harry! The second year he attended a man came out of a diary and framed his friend for using a giant snake to kill school girls and a cat. I mean c’mon, what kind of man has a diary?! Harry thought, and then chided himself for his toxic masculinity. 

This last year, hooded creatures were placed all along the castle, and they were after Harry’s soul. He had to fight off dozens of them, and could only do so through an (illegally obtained?) time travel device. Additionally he had a werewolf as a professor. Needless to say, Harry had decided he should not go back. He valued his life. 

Sometimes Harry felt so hangry (that’s hungry and angry as one emotion) he could just split his soul in two pieces, or even maybe seven pieces. Maybe he would even put them into sacred objects like a locket or something gay like that. Harry thought “gay” at first, but then he thought about Hilary Duff or Wanda Skyes coming up to him and chastising him for using gay as a perjorative. Then he corrected himself and thought “homosexual” so that Wanda Skyes would still like him. He didn’t care about Hilary Duff.

When the train let Harry off, his uncle, a beefy man named Vernon who was obsessed with drills, picked him up. Harry had a long time to think while driving back to his uncle’s home. As Harry walked up the stoop of the Privet Drive home, he decided he would get any part time job he could and start his life then and there. He would get his GED or whatever the british equivalent of that would be, and if he could find someone who would sell him one, he would get a fake ID. He figured he could get a better job with one of those. 

The next day he walked to the center of town and asked every restaurant if they needed help. None said yes, not even the McDonalds, or the chinese restaurant, or even the Jamba Juice. Harry had secretly been betting everything on the Jamba Juice, I mean who would want to work there? So he walked further out, close to a Catholic church he had never seen before. It was an exhausting walk-- he figured it would be at least a 25 minute walk back to the Dursleys’. But there was a single restaurant out here, one that he hadn’t seen before-- the Fish Fry. Harry thought to himself, Fish… Fry? What could that mean?

He walked into the small building. It smelled like fish, which Harry did not like. Harry preferred chicken, and sometimes beef, but he would not eat lamb. The man at the register had Harry searching his mind for polite synonyms of fat - he eventually came up with rubenesque, a word he had heard Hermione use to describe Millicent Bulstrode. The man had bright red hair, freckles, and a wide smile and greeted Harry warmly. The man had a wide smile and greeted Harry warmly. 

“What can I get for you?” Harry stared up at the menu. Cat...fish? Now, biology was never covered in Hogwarts, but Harry knew that a cat was not a fish. But he also knew from the Dursleys that Muggle-folk don’t like to be questioned. 

“Hello sir, my name is Harry Potter, and I am looking for a summer job. I’ll do anything! I’ll wash tables! I’ll wait tables! I can chop trees down! I can turn a needle into a grasshopper! I can do your taxes!” Harry knew he was lying about the last one-- but he also knew that taxes were due on April the 15th, and if a business had not done their taxes by now, they were probably a business Harry ought not to work for. 

The man stared down at Harry quizzically. “Now, you’re just a boy! I can’t go giving all my good accounting jobs to just boys-- why now, do you even have your CPA?” Harry had no idea what an accountant or a CPA was. But he tried to put on an unphased look and not think about how CPAs were an American certification program, not a British one. 

“Why, no sir, but with proper training I’m sure I could get any license I would need, including my CPA, or my COMPTIA+, or my PACP (Pipeline Assessment Certification Program)”

The man laughed. Harry found himself laughing at the pot bellied man. His nametag read Oscar. Harry thought for a second, what if this name tag was a lie, and the man was actually named Ron or Ronald, or D-Ronald? And then Harry thought, no, that would be silly. 

“Well boy, I don’t need ya to do my taxes, but I could use a dishwasher. It just pays the minimum wage of 3 dollars an hour. What do you say to that?”

Harry beamed up at him. “Yes sir!” Harry vowed to himself that he would be the best dishwasher this Fish Fry had ever seen.

Authors Note: Yes, I did google what the minimum wage in Britain was in the 90’s. That’s accurate. 

Author’s note number two: Don’t be a terf.

Also big thanks to my best friend for editing this fanfic and removing all my comma splices, and fixing my spelling. If spelling is an art, I'm an abstract impressionist. 


	2. Chapter Two: A (first) Day in the Life (of a fish man)

Harry was given a stack of paperwork and told to come back in two days with it all completed. Oscar had quelled Harry’s biggest fear when he told Harry that he would personally be overseeing his training. Harry was relieved because he didn't know how to wash dishes on a commercial scale. He also knew very little about fish.

When Harry got back to the Dursleys’ that evening, Dudley wouldn’t stop commenting on the fish smell. Harry didn’t smell it, so he just assumed it was Aunt Petunia. She often had a fishy vibe to her, with her boney face and large nose. Sometimes, in the cool summer mornings, Harry thought her skin had the gleam of cleaned scales. 

After dinner, Aunt Petunia screeched at him to do the dishes. Harry was elated. He stared at the small stack of dishes, rolled his large t-shirt up, and scrubbed harder than he had ever scrubbed before. Ron would say he was working like a house-elf-- but he knew he was working like a Potter. And he was the only one of those left, so he was working like himself! About midway through his dish work, Vernon came over. 

“Boy! What is taking you so long! They’re just dishes!” but then Vernon picked up one of the dishes, and noticed the radiant sparkle of Harry’s clean. Vernon almost dropped it when he noticed his own reflection in the dish. “Finally doing the job we’ve been asking you to do, boy,” and with that Vernon walked away. Harry didn’t see it, but Aunt Petunia put a hand on Vernon’s shoulder and a tear of pride went down her fish-like cheek. Harry had only seen Vernon look that proud when he was talking about drills. 

After an hour of doing all 4 dishes, Harry went upstairs. He fed Hedwig the owl and began to fill out his paperwork. There were a lot of things he didn’t know about himself. “Social Security number? What is that?” Harry read on: previous work experience, high school degree, college degree, criminal activities!? He did sneak out to go to Hogsmeade last year. Did that count? Gosh, Harry was getting overwhelmed and wished he could send a letter to Hermione, but Hedwig was out hunting for mice. Eventually he figured he should be honest and say that he didn’t go to highschool and had no previous work experience and that he might be a criminal and that his social security number was totally made up. 

Harry was nervous, and there were things about the paperwork that confused him. But he went to bed excited. Three dollars an hour! That’s amazing, he thought to himself. Three dollars. Ron would never say he was working like a house-elf for that kind of money! 

Author’s Note: I did search Pottermore to see if JK Rowling has confirmed Harry’s Social Security number but she didn’t as of July 2020.


	3. Chapter Three: Slow Moving Fish

The next day passed slowly. Harry wished that the Dursleys would eat more so that he could practice his dishwashing skills, but alas, they ate the same amount that they usually did, which was still a lot. Dudley seemed like he might be eating less though, and was eating more grain-based food. So Harry found himself meandering around, doing much of nothing and listening to the news under a bush. He hoped there might be some fish-based news, but it was all mammals. 

At dinner that night, Harry decided he had to bring it up. “Petunia... Vernon… I wanted to tell you, I won’t be here for dinner tomorrow because I have a summer job. I’ll be a dishwasher at the Fish Fry.” Vernon grunted, as he did with all none-drill topics. Dudley got a slimy grin on his face, the kind a toad would get. Harry hated it because toads were not fish. Harry figured his fish fry job would be another reason for Dudley to attempt to beat Harry up. 

“Well, I suppose that is for the best-- but do make sure you wash every night. We don’t want fish getting in that messy hair of yours and stinking up the house-- even more,” she said with venom. Aunt Petunia never cooked fish. In fact, Harry barely thought of fish as an animal to be eaten. 

Harry did the dishes after dinner again. He spent 15 minutes on each one, then he went to bed. He was to be at the Fish Fry for the opening shift at noon tomorrow. He wanted to ensure he would get enough sleep for his first day on the job, so he was in bed by nine PM. 

When he woke up the next day, Harry took a shower and cleaned himself so thoroughly he figured he would never have to shower again. He still had hours to go before his shift started, so he went to the kitchen, got a cookbook, and looked through all the recipes about fish he could find. Smoked Salmon! Baked Tuna! Sushi! He even picked up a book by Salmon Rushdie, but quickly put it down when he realized how boring and pretentious it was. 

Eventually it was time for him to walk to the restaurant. He put on his best khakis and polo shirt and began the walk. With each step, his excitement over the Fish Fry grew. Harry kept imagining the different fish-related things he could do with his money: eating fish, going fishing, requesting an LL Bean catalog, buying the “Go Fish” card game. 

He got to the Fish Fry 15 minutes early. Not early enough, he thought. 

“Salutations colleagues!” Harry was trying his hardest to sound as much like Hermione as he could muster. He had considered bringing books with him, but he knew that the extra weight would make him sweat on his walk over. 

“Great to see ya! What was your name again?”

“Harry, Harry Potter,” and with that Harry began his adventure in becoming the best Fish Fry employee there ever was.


	4. Chapter Four: First Scale is the Hardest

Harry was told to come back Wednesday through Sunday, 4 to 10 PM, for his dishwashing shift. His boss taught him how to wash dishes the proper way, with a sponge. Harry was surprised by the amount of cuts he left with. It was just dishwashing right? Right? 

The other employees at the Fish Fry didn’t acknowledge Harry. In fact, when they referred to him, they just called him ‘Washer Boy’. Harry liked this sense of anonymity, but it also got on his nerves. Harry! It was his name, what was the hard part of learning a single name?! 

What made Harry the happiest was when he was given a fish. 

(He was never taught how to fish though, and so he was poor.)

“If you work a full shift, you get a meal,” Oscar the manager told him. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, you even get to pick the fish, but nothing that’s sold for market price.” Harry was just about to ask for the shark fin soup. Twenty years from now, that might be a striking decision of anti-environmentalism-- but today, in the 90s, it would be cool. Blackfish hadn’t come out yet.

“I’ll have the catfish soup!” said a colleague, Arnold at the fry station, and mimicked vomiting behind the boss. 

“What a decision, Harry!” Oscar beamed. Oscar was always talking the catfish soup up to the customers that didn’t immediately know what they wanted to order. 

Harry was determined to try all the fish on the menu. He would become a fish expert. A fishpert. Harry wasn’t so good at coming up with fish based puns. 

As Harry began eating the catfish soup, he found himself striving to not choke on some small bones. He also found himself questioning if the soup could have been heated up. Harry didn’t think it was intended to be a cold soup, but he swore there were ice cubes in it. Honestly the co-worker who had made a vomiting motion had not been totally inaccurate. But also it was the middle of summer, and it’s not like catfish soup was meant to be a cold soup, so maybe it was just that Harry had bad taste in fish-based soups. 

Harry got back to work and began to wash the dishes. It was Thursday. Arnold-- who was at the fish baking station-- had mentioned that Thursdays were “pretty low key, man” since most people waited until Friday to have fish. Harry thought this was quite grand: fish was such a delicacy that people waited until the end of the week to have it. 

Arnold dumped a greasy basket that was used to deep-fry fish in Harry's sink. Harry had not read the regulations regarding oil and sewage systems, but at least in America, dumping cooking oil down to the sewage system would be met with a high fine. Fats, oils and grease would clog the sewage system, incurring the need for expensive replacement and repairs that the metropolitan sewer district would have to do. Harry didn’t know this yet, though -- it was only his first week. 

Harry immediately went to wash the frying basket and withdrew his hand as quickly as he had put it on the basket. It was scalding, even after a moment in the water. 

“Careful there boy!” Arnold yelled at Harry. “You got to let those cool down a little bit, grease gets hotter than water!” Harry bet Hermione knew that grease was hotter than water. Arnold was a jovial man with a twirled handlebar mustache. He had olive skin and a scraggly beard. He would often tell everyone in the Fish Fry about what kind of sex he and his wife were going to have that night. Taped on the top of his deep frying station were pictures of his family, a plump woman and two kids. Harry hated how he would imagine exactly what Arnold would tell everyone in the Fish Fry. He could see clearly Arnold fucking his wife like they were in Salo. Harry did think the rat thing was inventive. 

Harry stood in front of his sink, not knowing what to do. While the grease basket was in the sink, he couldn't work on washing anything. But also it was the only thing in the sink. Just then, Arnold peered at him from his grease station. “Boy, what are you doing standing there?”

“Oh, just waiting for the grease basket to cool down.”

“Boy! If you have time to lean, you have time to scream!”

“What?”

“Go out on the streets with this here sign, and scream about our newest fish specials!” Arnold took a sign from behind the deep fryer and wrote in black sharpie: Catfish Soup, 2 FOR $1! 

Harry went outside, stood up with the sign in his hand, and at the top of his lungs, threw his head upward and screamed “Catfish soup!” It felt nice. He was so angry. So angry about Sirius and dementors, and being cursed with magic and Voldemort. This opportunity to scream, to just get it out, felt so good. “Catfish soup, TWO FOR A DOLLAR!” People were staring at him. Maybe they would come into the store. 

Before Harry knew what was happening, the store owner had taken the sign. “What are you doing boy?!”

“I’m just doing what Arnold told me to,” Harry said, glancing inside the store. Arnold and the other Fish Fry employees were doubled over laughing. Harry reddened. 

“They were having a go at you!” 

When Harry walked back in the store, he felt a great wave of embarrassment as if he were a forgetful blue tang swept away in currents that cool sea turtles were riding. He knew he would never be the best Fish Fry employee. He wouldn’t even be a good Fish Fry employee at this rate. He wished he could fly away on Buckbeak the Hippogriff right then and there. But he knew that even Buckbeak would be laughing at him now. 

“Ha ha ha, I can’t believe you fell for that!” Arnold was laughing way too much at this prank. 

“Catfish soup isn’t even two for a dollar!” another one of the Fish Fry employees, the accountant, chimed in. 

Just then, a customer walked in. He was elderly and slumped. His face looked like it had seen the back of a World War two propaganda poster-- that is to say, he was old, but obviously did not fight in World War Two, just did civilian things to support the war like hanging posters. 

“Catfish soup? Two for a dollar? Is that what I heard?” His voice was like a frog’s elbow creaking - very quiet, but also slimy and definitely something the French would eat. 

“Damn it Arnold!” Oscar yelled back to the fry cook, who stood there suppressing his laughter. He thought he had performed the best prank ever, and really couldn't stop himself from laughing so hard he cried. 

Just then, a pretty looking boy walked into the Fish Fry. He had a great wave of lush brown hair. His jawline was striking. His clothes were clean. He was even wearing shoes. To Harry, it almost seemed like the boy sparkled. 

“Harry Potter!”

“Yes?” 

“Oh god, you don’t recognize me?!” 

Harry swallowed. What if this was a cousin or other family member of his. Was this Dudley? Harry thought for a moment. Then his eyes filled with understanding. 

“You’re on the Hufflepuff qudd--Soccer team-- Goalie.”

The boy smiled widely. “Yeah um the soccer team! I was the uh… ball,” he said, and they both laughed. Harry had never interacted much with any Hufflepuff, much less this bright boy, but he thought maybe he had judged them too harshly. But also, he did smell like drugs. And not the cool wizard drugs, like Mugpuffers or Merlin’s Pubes, but the non-wizarding kind. He smelled like weed. 

“Well, uhh, I’m here to pick up some catfish soup for my family.”

“Right, of course!” Harry scurried back to wash his dishes, trying to keep Cedric from his mind during the rest of his shift.

On the walk home all he could think about was Cedric. Did he live close to here? Was there a wizard settlement in the area? Did his family really enjoy catfish soup? Every time Harry thought of catfish soup, he remembered the vile smell. Catfish itself didn’t smell that bad-- it was no cod, but why did the soup smell so bad? 

As Harry fell asleep that night, his only real thought was of Cedric. Harry remembered how good a Seeker he was, and how good a jawline he had. How when he looked at him in the daylight, sometimes it really did seem like the boy sparkled.


	5. Chapter Five: Catholics Cajole

It was Harry’s first Friday. Everyone had been talking it up. “Oh, let’s just see if you can handle a Friday!” “You won’t know what to do with all the Catholics.” “The fish smell worse on friday!” “Yes and there are often a lot of Scientologists that get fish on Friday as well-- I don’t know why, but I suspect it has to do with Tom Hanks himself!” Harry had never heard of this Tom Hanks guy, but he assumed that it was a local preacher. Harry made sure to remember this name, and to avoid Tom Hanks if he ever encountered him. Harry was a staunch atheist. 

When Harry got to the Fish Fry, it was empty. Not a customer in sight. But it felt ominous. Not like yesterday, or the day before, when there was also not a customer in sight. Harry couldn’t put a finger on it, but he suspected it was that the boss was playing the Requiem for a Dream soundtrack throughout the store. There were loud scraping noises. An elderly couple walked in and asked if there was construction happening in the back. Multiple times, when a loud unexpected noise happened in the music, Oscar dropped a fish in the fryer by accident. 

“Wow this is quite… melodious.” Arnold was truly a commendable liar. He was also the known Aronofsky-hater of the workplace. He would go on lone tangents about how Black Swan didn’t hold up, and how mother! was too pretentious. It got on everyone’s nerves. But Oscar was always upbeat, and he never took Arnold’s pretentious opinions sorely. 

“Yes! I love this movie! It reminds me of my life-- well that day that I spent in Coney Island with one of my brother’s friends.” Oscar shared this memory with all the Fish Fry employees, making everyone feel closer to him. 

Harry went back to his dish washing station. The dishes were stacked as tall as his head. Harry knew this would be a challenging day, whether there were Catholics or not. As he started scrubbing, another one of his co-workers came out of the back to grab some dishes. She had a radio and put on the BBC channel. They were listening to the Ira Glass hour. 

Harry usually found the BBC to be a bland knockoff of NPR, but this Ira Glass fellow was hip. They were doing a jazz hour and Ira Glass was filling in for all the notes you didn’t hear. Harry was beginning to hate music. He wished for just the notes you didn’t hear, so he could listen to more of Ira Glass’s mouth sounds. He was glad the back door was propped open with a Bible, so that most of the radio noise was drowned out by the violence of the neighborhood. 

Harry was cleaning his fifth dish when he heard a whisper. 

“Harry...” He turned to the voice. It was Cedric. 

“Cedric, it’s you!”

“Harry, I know you’re working so I won’t take up much of your time,”

“Oh okay.” Harry turns to leave, but Cedric catches his hand across the counter. 

“Why are you working here?”

“Oh, I… I…” He hadn’t told anyone that he was leaving the magic world. Not Ron or Hermione, and definitely not Dumbledore. He was nervous. But Cedric’s pale eyes were staring down with such a clear sense of concern for him. “I want to leave the wizarding world.”

“What! NO! Harry, you’re a great wizard! And a great Seeker! Why would you do this?”

“I-- I… I don’t want to deal with Voldemort anymore.” 

Cedric vomited when he heard Voldemort's name. “Sorry, it’s just the catfish soup.”

“Yeah it’s disgusting.” 

“I mean, I think it tastes better coming back up… Harry, you can’t leave Hogwarts. You’re so talented and bright!” Cedric stared into Harry's eyes for a few moments. “And I would miss you-- and so would Ron and Hermione and Dumbledore, and god, even Snape!”

“Snape hates me!”

“Yes, but he loves bullying you!”

“Yes… well… It’s just so much Cedric. Voldemort tried to kill me two years in a row --” Cedric got a nosebleed when Harry said Voldemort’s chosen name. “And then last year I was this close to becoming a werewolf.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, you didn’t know Lupin was a werewolf?”

“I mean… I guess I thought that his father was a werewolf. Like his father was really proud of his werewolf heritage and that’s why he named him Lupin. Like I thought there was no way a werewolf would be named that-- that doesn’t make sense you know?”

“What?”

“Harry did you not take Latin?”

“No...”

“Merlin fucking christ, that’s one of the core Hogwarts classes, did you just skip all the time?”

“Well, Ron didn’t really like it.”

“Harry, that’s wild. You did all those incredible things without Latin! You have to come back to Hogwarts. Oh Harry, you could be the next Cornelius Fudge!”

“Who is that?”

“The President of Magic.”

“Oh, I don’t much care for politics.” 

Just then Harry’s boss came back. He immediately saw Harry talking to Cedric. 

“Ah, Harry, you’ve met one of our finest customers!” The boss put a hand on Cedric’s shoulder. “Yes, Cedric’s father was actually one of the fine men that gave me a business loan. Back when I first started the business, in 1954, the year the Great War ended-- well ended for me at least! That’s the war on poverty-- my war on poverty!” 

“You’ve always had a way of stringing words together in quite a Churchillian way, sir.”

“And you’ve always had a love for my catfish soup, boy!”

“Anyway, I know Harry from school. He was telling me how great it is to work here, he loves it.”

“Yes, well, hopefully he’ll get back to work!” Harry stared at his washing station. There was a tower of dishes.

“We must get back to work, it’s wild times out there,” Oscar said to Harry and Harry went back to his dish washing sink. He took a glance at the front of the store. 

It was pure chaos. Simply put, it was an ocean of Catholics. He couldn’t fathom how there could be that many Catholics in a fish restaurant, or for that matter all of Great Britain. He glanced in the freezer and saw five fish -- surely this wouldn’t be enough fish to feed them all. Harry was so caught up in his thoughts that he missed the tower of dishes that had begun to climb in his sink. Harry thought he might need a ladder just to start. It was going to be a long day.


	6. Chapter Six: Give a Man a Fish

Harry’s entire body was aching. He couldn’t believe that there had been that many Catholics getting fish yesterday. He had done five times the amount of dishes than any previous day. He hadn’t felt it before, but now he was glad that he would have a day off. Any question Harry had about the business’s financial situation had disappeared when he saw the mass of Catholics that Friday. He lay in bed for hours, until he realized he needed to feed his pet owl Hedwig. 

Hedwig had been acting weird ever since he’d gotten his job at the Fish Fry. He figured she just wasn't a fan of the smell of fish-- which Harry felt put her in a morally objectionable situation. But she was his pet and he would take care of her. 

The Dursleys didn’t want her to be let out, except at nighttime, when “owls were meant to be out,” so she was stuck in her cage for most of the day. Harry pulled out a cracker and fed it to her. She nibbled it softly, but when Harry tried to pet her, she moved away. 

Harry decided it was time for him to write to Hermione. He was always a little nervous around the girl because she had an obvious crush on him. Like, he got it, Harry knew he was a heartthrob, he just wished Hermione would chill with the flirting. 

Dear Hermione,  
I will not be coming back to Hogwarts this year. I do not want to see Voldemort again. I also do not want anything to do with werewolves. I also don’t like studying. I have had enough and have decided to start my life as a Muggle. I got a job as a dishwasher at the local Fish Fry. I think this is for the best. I hope you are doing well. Maybe your parents could teach me how to be an amateur dentist, as that seems like it could be a profitable side hustle for me.   
Hermione, since I am leaving Hogwarts, I have decided that I need to get my GED or whatever the British equivalent of that is. I know that you are basically the wizarding version of Google, so I was hoping that you could tell me how to go about this dream of mine.   
-Harry Potter. 

With that, Harry decided it was time for him to get some fresh air, and he decided to to take a walk. He wished he had a bike. His mind would wander sometimes during work, and he’d think about buying one with his money, but he knew the Dursley wouldn’t let him keep it anywhere. He decided to walk along the river bank, a place he usually stayed away from because it was a favorite spot of Dudley and his posse of bullies. But the feeling of hard work and a dollar earned kept Harry's spirits high. 

On the bank, he spotted an elderly man with a fishing pole. He was sitting next to it and setting up another fishing pole. 

“Sir! Sir!” 

The man turned. He had a big white beard, was slightly overweight, and was wearing a suit that Harry found to be utterly flamboyant. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked the stranger. 

“Why, I’m fishing, young boy!”

“But why have two poles?”

“To catch double the fish with!” Harry's mouth made a large O. This man was a genius. He wanted to know all of his secrets. 

“How do I fish?”

The man began to show Harry how to fish. He started by showing him what the pole was, and then showed him where the river was. Then he told Harry to throw the fishing line out, so that the string would hit the water. Harry was amazed by this man’s inventive spirit. He would have never thought of this on his own. 

“And then you just wait,” the man told Harry. They waited and waited, and after 3 hours of not talking, there was a tug on Harry’s line. 

“Gasp! What’s that?” 

“Well it was a fish, but you scared it. Next time you get a tug, just reel it in like this,” and the man showed Harry how to use the fishing reel. 

They waited another few hours, and eventually there was another pull at Harry’s line. He began to reel. There was vigorous splashing in the water. For the first time since last Friday, Harry could feel his muscles tightening. This fish really didn’t want to die. But with a great burst of energy, Harry managed to reel the fish in. 

“That’s a catfish!”

“Wow!” Harry hadn’t been this proud of himself since he killed a lake full of dementors last year. Harry felt so proud of his fish. But he knew that wouldn’t be enough to live off of. So he decided it was time to study for the GED. That night, he snuck into Dudley’s room and found his old textbooks. He also noticed that Dudley had a water bed. At least, Harry figured it was a bed-- or maybe Dudley was just very sweaty when he slept. 

Harry picked up the large book. It was big, but not as big as the books he was used to from Hogwarts. It said “Remedial Reading.” Inside were a bunch of pictures with simple words like dog, cat, and fish. When Harry saw that word, his heart picked up its pace. Did Dudley know about fish? He hoped so. 

Harry didn’t need the remedial reading book, nor did he need the book about basic counting that Dudley had. Harry was a little frustrated. His cousin was truly struggling academically, and that would make it hard for Harry to learn the necessary calculus and science and actual adult level reading necessary to get his GED or whatever the British equivalent of that is. Harry believed in his cousin, though. 

Harry decided that he needed to go to the library.


	7. Chapter Seven: The Satanic Verses

“Arnold! Hey Arnold! Where are you?” ba dew da dew do do do, *trash can slams into the ground* “Hey Arnold! Arnold, Arnold, Arnold!” *jazzy music*

“At my frying station sir,” Arnold said like Jamie Lee Curtis in any movie she’d ever been in-- that is, at her wit’s end and about to scream. 

“The fish is too salty,” Arnold said, dripping with sweat. Harry suspected that this might be where the extra salt was coming from. Arnold was drenched. When the line got shorter, around 8PM that night, Arnold finally took a break. With a large huff, he grabbed a towel, dried himself off, and walked to the back. He opened the door and started to smoke.

“Everything okay sir?” Harry was changing out the air filter, a simple task he knew he could perform with utter excellence. 

“I just...get so fed up sometimes.” 

“With the grease? Is it not greasy enough for you?”

“No, I love the grease. It’s the best part of my job. Best part of my life outside o’ my wife and kids and truck.” Arnold looked down. He was never a big talker. But he did love that truck. 

“Well--”

“They hate fish!” Arnold blurted out. 

“Oh… well do you want to know a secret, Mr. Arnold?” 

“Yes, I love secrets!” 

“Don’t we all. Well, my secret is that I didn’t like fish before I started working here… I would tell my friends, when it appeared on my plate-- I would say, ‘Ew gross, fish is for slytheri-- snakes!’ Snakes. And I would only eat chicken and tofu.” Arnold looked absolutely scandalized. He looked like he might want to hit Harry. Harry was glad that Arnold wasn’t drinking any wine, as it wouldn't be the first time that being thrown at him had caused him a trip to the dry cleaners. But Harry trusted Arnold. He knew that what he had said was surprising.

“Wow, that is surprising.” Arnold took a big breath. “But I understand, Harry. Fish... Fish isn’t for everyone.” Arnold was suddenly very emotional. He looked like he was about to cry. This was upsetting for Harry, as Arnold had become like a father for him-- over the past less than a month. It broke Harry’s heart, but he knew he needed to be there for Arnold. “My family actually doesn’t like fish.”

“I’m sure your family can come to love fish. Since I’ve been here I’ve learned about all different kinds of fish. Have you heard of salmon?” 

“Rushdie, the great literary fiction author? I was part of the protests against the Satanic Verses in 1988! That man is a heathen, and I can’t believe the liberal intelligentsia likes him so much!”

“No, no! Not... Salman Rushdie? Salmon the fish.” 

“What? I haven’t heard of that one.” It was moments like these that made Harry proud to be a dishwasher at a Fish Fry. To get to tell people of all the various types of fish out there -- well, Harry was beginning to feel that there was no higher calling. 

“Salmon is great. It’s pink, and it’s often used in sushi. Did you know bears eat it?”

“No way, bears? Bears eating fish?!” Arnold looked amazed. His eyes sparkled. Arnold put out his cigar on Harry’s air filter and went back to work. 

Harry was dead tired when he got off work. Explaining salmon to Arnold had taken more out of him than he realized. He was glad, though. Knowledge of fish should be easily accessible to everyone. He decided to take the long way home, going close to the canal on the way home. Much to his surprise, despite the late hour, that same old man was still fishing. 

“Sir! Sir!” Harry called out to his new friend. 

“It’s Mr. Blake Lively, son.” 

“Oh, sorry… do you have two last names?” Dumbledore had many names. Harry figured most were from his previous marriages, though. That man was definitely a slut. 

“I took my wife’s last names when we got married. She had two last names.”

“Oh. What does your wife look like?” 

“She’s a stunt double for Blake Lively.”

“Oh wow,” Harry said with effort to sound impressed. He did not know what Mr. Blake Lively was talking about. “What’s a stunt double?”

“She does all the cool tricks for Blake Lively’s movies. Have you seen Gossip Girl? She did all the explosion scenes for that.”

“Oh, I haven’t seen that movie.”

“Oh, well have you seen the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants or the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants Part Two?”

“No...”

“She did all the chase scenes in that-- like when they needed to get the pants back on, you know. She also did the scene where the pants strangle the girls from the legs up,”

“No, I’m sorry, the only movies I have ever seen are Mike Leigh’s movies.”

“Oh, those movies have a lot of cool stunts.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He did not remember a single stunt in any Mike Leigh movie. Mostly when he remembered those movies, it had made him feel sad inside. Like the times before he had learned about fish: very sad. There was a melancholy mood between them now. Harry wished he had seen more Blake Lively movies. But he was no Roger Ebert, or whatever the British equivalent would be-- obviously not Pauline Kale, she was a New Yorker-- did London have a good cinema scene? Harry didn’t know. This was definitely not the time to ask. 

“I caught an extra fish, do you want it?” The fish was small, golden, and in a plastic bag. Harry wanted the fish so much that he might burst at any moment. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll name it Wanda.” 

Eventually Harry got back home. He put Wanda in the microwave and baked Wanda for 3 minutes. Once fully cooked, he sprinkled some salt and cheese on the fish and got a knife. He found the fish to be exceptionally slippery and difficult to cut. So he just swallowed the orange fish whole. 

Cedric came by the store the next day. He was wearing a light blue shirt and blue jeans. He looked amazing. Just absolutely carefree and beautiful. He had a light tan. He was there to order some catfish soup for his family. 

“That will be 15 dollars and 67 cents, paper or plastic?” Cedric gave Harry a 20 dollar bill, or whatever the British equivalent of that would be. 

“Hey Harry.” As Cedric retrieved his change, he grabbed Harry's hand, caressing each finger. 

“Yes, Cedric?'' Harry was rapt with attention. Cedric’s hair glistened. The bag of catfish soup stank, but Cedric’s cologne -- which smelled like sour bananas -- overtook it. It smelled absolutely outstanding. Just the biggest smell in any room you’ve ever been, including those of you reading who live in the world of Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle, which I think is just the real world but like one hundred years ago. 

“Would you like to go to the roller rink with me sometime?” 

“What’s a roller rink?” Harry had never played Neopets, so he was unfamiliar with the part where you have a penguin (I named mine Bruce) and the penguin roller skates on an ice rink. If only Harry had access to a computer and the internet, then he would seem more worldly around Cedric Diggory. 

“It’s where you roller skate.”

“Ohhh.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s roller skating?”

“It’s like if you attached two broom sticks to the bottom of your shoes and moved around like that.” 

“Oh wow… is that a...fun activity?” Harry was skeptical. This seemed absolutely dangerous. But it also sounded like a challenge, and like something that would take a long amount of time to master. This excited Harry. Was Cedric asking him to spend days upon days to teach him how to do this maneuver? Would this help his Quidditch game? He didn’t know.

“Well, it’s fun when you’re with the right person!” 

Harry's heart was beating out of his chest. He felt like a cartoon character, like that skunk who had a crush on average looking ladies. 

“Who is the right person?”

“Well, I think it might be you Harry.” 

Harry could have died and then the world would have one less horcrux. He wanted to go to roller skate right then and there. 

“Oh, okay.”

“Wednesday?” Cedric asked.

“Wednesday.”


	8. Chapter Eight: My Immortal Government Identification Card

Harry was not feeling so great when he got up. He had the distinct feeling that he had eaten something bad the previous day. Maybe it was what Aunt Petunia had made for lunch-- egg salad. There was no fish in egg salad, and that was nearly a sin to Harry. There was a small possibility that he didn’t microwave Wanda for long enough. Needless to say, Harry was not looking forward to the rest of his day. 

Harry decided that he needed to start studying for the GED or whatever the British equivalent is to that. He started by walking to the library. It was about a 10 minute walk, located in a nice air-conditioned building that was next to the police department. When he walked in, he strolled right up to the desk because he had no idea where books on GEDs would be. 

“Hello, I am Harry Potter and I am trying to study for my GED,”

The reference librarian stared down at Harry. “You seem a bit young,”

“I have my goals. They are for my consideration. I apperice your regular concern, but this is my life and I chose to lead it how I wish. Now where are the books on GEDs,”

The reference librarian looked taken aback, but led Harry to a large shelf full of books on GEDs. Most of them were letterprint, and green in color. 

“How many can I take?”

“All of them”

“Oh but I can’t carry that much,”

“Then three,”

Harry picked out the three biggest books and took them to the reference clerk’s desk, where he checked out the books under Dudley's name. Dudley had never been in the library, but Petunia had gotten him a card a long time ago. If Dudley noticed that Harry had stolen it, he never made that known. 

Harry took his GED books and went back to his room, where he learned about algebra for the first time. Hogwarts never taught this kind of magic. In a lot of ways, it was easier than any kind of wand spell he had learned. There was no physical activity to it. Before Harry realized it, it was time for his shift at the Fish Fry. 

Most of Harry’s shifts at the Fish Fry had been boring up to that point. There were no interesting stains on any of the dishes he washed. No customers tried to pay with American dollars or invented new ways to pay. Apple Pay? Really? Harry thought. This wasn’t the Middle Ages, he wasn’t about to barter catfish soup for apples. Maybe oranges, but the man wasn’t offering oranges, just “apple pay.” He told the man to go to another catfish soup dealer. 

Harry was eating his catfish soup during his break when he noticed her. She was tall with black hair -- it was so dark that Harry decided it was ebony. He looked closer. There were red streaks, and it seemed to be dipped in red paint at the end. She looked like she could have been dating the lead singer of My Chemical Romance. Harry did not like how she looked, but she did seem to be some kind of witch, or at least a Muggle with terrible fashion choices which was pretty close to being a witch. He stared at his food, and then stared at her, then back to his food. Then he got up and strode over to her table. She was reading an occult book-- Suspiria, the DVD. 

“Hey,”

“Wut u want prep?” the girl sneered at him. He felt like a lowlife prep, even though he knew he wasn’t a prep cook, but rather a dishwasher. 

“A fake ID,'' Harry said as bravely as he could. 

He looked at her. She stared at him. She took a long drink of her catfish soup, and then she coughed it up. There seemed to be some thin spindly bones in her soup. The boss always said that the bones were the best part of catfish soup, but this girl was just coughing them up! Shameful. Truly shameful. 

“What?”

“My name is Harry Potter, and I want a fake ID so I can take my GED test and become a true muggle,”

“Why don’t you just go to high school?”

“I don't know what is, and I refuse to learn anything more on this subject,”

“Oh, well...idk u prep. I don’t have a fake ID, but I do have my old learner’s permit. I don’t need it anymore. I got my actual license last month,”

“Will that work?”

“Well, I mean, you can like white out my name and put your own. Then it will definitely work,”

“You’re a fucking genius,”

“Thank you,”

He took the girl’s learner’s permit. In the picture she had soft blonde hair and wide blue eyes. She had a slight smile and was wearing a polo with the collar popped. Next to her was her mother, who looked like a more regal version of her, and sitting next to her mother was her father, a man who looked like he was probably well known in the insurance business (winky emoji). On the back of the photograph there was personal information like her phone number, favorite color, her biggest and smallest fears, her pet lizard’s name, the name of her boyfriend (the singer of MCR) and the circumference of her nipple. Harry hated driver’s licenses now. He didn’t want to know what that girl’s mom looked like, or how much space her nipples took up. But he was glad to have the contraband. He slipped it in his pockets. It felt like a sacred object. He felt like he had when he had first gotten the Marauder's Map, and he knew it was a secret to be hidden from everyone else. 

After obtaining his new fake ID, he went straight to Oscar. 

“Oscar, do you think the authorities will buy this?” He showed Oscar the girl’s learner’s permit. 

“Buy this piece of plastic? No, I don’t think anyone should… boy have big ol’ nipples don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Then after a moment Harry’s mind wandered to Cedric. “Hey Oscar, how do you know when someone likes you?”

“Oh, well it’s very simple my boy!” Harry was rapt with attention. He didn’t realize his question had been a simple one. Rather, he thought that grammatically speaking, it was a complex question that required more than a yes or no answer. “Do you have a witch in your neighborhood?” Oh god, Harry thought, I’ll have to email Hermione on this one. 

“I don’t think witches are real, sir.” 

Oscar laughed at this. Oh, he laughed and he laughed. 

“Simple boy, you are a fool. There are witches in the world, and they can tell you if your crush likes you back.”

Arnold butt his head into the dishwasher and owner-operator’s conversation and said “You could always just ask them out, why don’t you do that Harry? Just ask the person out. Maybe give them a fish when you do it, so even if they don’t like you, they don’t have to let you down. They can still have a fish!”

“Damn, that is a good idea, but ultimately, I think I am going to go with the witch idea,” Harry told his boss honestly. He knew that his boss would value his honesty. He also knew his boss would value his bravery for being willing to meet a witch in real life. Harry also knew his boss valued money. He knew his boss valued gold and expensive cars. He knew his boss valued his wife's opinion and knew his boss hated his own father. He knew his boss valued his box set DVD collection of Dragon Ball Z, and he valued his ability to do 100 push ups, 100 sit ups, and 10 kilometers. He knew a lot about his boss -- sometimes, Harry thought he knew too much and would be capable of taking down his boss at any time. He thought of becoming his boss, consuming his identity whole. “Witches are cool, you know?” 

“Well, I understand. If I were your age, I would probably also want to go with the witch idea, but be careful boy,” Arnold said to him. Harry glanced over to this and caught a small smile that told him the boss was a little bit proud of him. 

“Well then, I’ll take you to my great aunt Hilda, she’s a real witch! Black cat and everything. But let me tell you, most of the spells she can perform are not cheap. They require specific crystals, or like, multiple eggs.”

“Damn. Well, good thing I have a job!”

Everyone laughed, especially the boss. 

Harry slept well that night, thinking of the gleam in his boss’s eye, and how his boss laughed about how Harry had a job. Harry secretly was a little bit worried that his boss laughed that hard because he was planning on firing Harry. But Harry squashed that intrusive thought, and told himself that there was no basis in reality for that idea. This helped him. 

The next day he went straight to office of the GED or Whatever the British Equivalent to That Is. He thought that was quite a few words they had managed to put on the neon sign. Overall, the appearance of the building was strange. It was entirely boring except for the large neon sign that said what the building was. Sometimes Harry thought that Britain was too loud a country for him. He wished he could live in America, where everyone seemed to be well-reasoned and quiet. He doubted that their government buildings would have the money to pay for garish neon signs. He walked in with a head full of complaints. 

“Hello, I want to take my GED!” he bellowed out to the entire building. The inside of the building was just as boring as the outside, but without a neon sign, it at least made more sense. 

“Well first we’ll have to scan ya,” a man in a security uniform with a baton told him. He thought for a moment the man might be a wizard with a particular ugly wand, but then he realized the man was just ugly. 

“Fine! Defy me my liberties for a moment, so that I can prove my value as a citizen.”

“Sure.” The man took his wand and moved it across Harry’s body. Harry had no idea what he was doing. “You need walk through this,” 

“What is it,”

“.... it’s a metal detector,”

Oh no, Harry thought. What if I’m made of metal, and this is a contraption set here to be a trap?! He nervously stared at the man. 

“Do you have any keys on you?”

“No,”

“You’ll be fine,”

Harry walked through the metal detector with quivering legs. This was almost as scary as the time that a hoard of dementors descended on him in the lake. Or the time the ugly Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was actually the evil dark wizard Voldemort. But Harry was brave. He was a Gryffindor. More importantly, he was a dishwasher. This was the least of his concerns. What really made him nervous and angry was the large stain in the room. It was blood red and in the shape of a human body.

He walked through the metal detector and nothing happened.

“Alright, the ‘GED or Whatever the British Equivalent to That Is’ office is on the second floor. You’ll see the sign, it’s quite long.” Harry wasn’t certain he could trust the private security man. He just seemed gross. 

“Okay”

Harry walked up the stairs and didn’t immediately see the sign. He cursed the pseudo-police officer and began walking up the hallways. There were signs for many things-- stop signs, yield signs, umm, traffic lights. How was Harry to find the right sign in a place like this? Harry had gone about 100 feet when he considered giving up this fruitless task. It was just at that moment he saw the sign. It said “GED or Whatever the British Version of That Is office.” And Harry was livid. That wasn’t what the pseudo police office said. He had used the word “equivalent”. Harry was so mad. He took a deep breath before bursting into the GED or Whatever the British Version of That Is office. 

A lady who looked like a hot version of Roz the secretary from the Monster Inc movies push a test towards Harry. The test was 500 pounds of pure high school level test questions. 

The test was quick and difficult and graded immediately by a rude-looking woman with octagonal glasses and overwhelming perfume. She smelled like mothballs and elderly pussy. The rude looking lady slide across her desk a single sheet of paper. Harry picked it up, and it said “You have failed your GED or whatever the british equivalent of that is, test, GO BACK TO HIGH SCHOOL”

After failing his GED test, Harry knew what he had to do next: go on a date with Cedric Diggory and ask for his help. It was finally Wednesday. He had been counting down the days -- all one of them -- since Cedric asked him out. At least, he thought Cedric had asked him out. He wasn’t entirely sure. He walked home in a depressive state, slamming the door to his room, and barely even saying hello to Hedwig. 

Harry let the owl go off into the night. Hedwig had been very happy lately. Harry had gotten her a TV for her cage with some of his Fish Fry money. She seemed to be enjoying it a lot. He would come home and she would be watching highly violent American movies like The Goonies and ET. Harry would scold her and say, “Why not watch the National Geographic channel?” and she would chirp right in his face and hold up a little gun sign with her wings. Harry didn’t always know if he was ready to own this owl, but it was his responsibility and much like Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers on track two of Full Moon Fever, he wasn’t backing down.


	9. Chapter Nine: Slyther Owl

When he got up the next day, Harry was buzzing with energy. It was the day of his date with Cedric. He spent about 2 hours trying to get his hair to smooth down, but nothing worked. He hoped that Cedric liked his messy hair as it was. He put on his coolest band t-shirt. It had Panic! at the Disco’s first album on it, which Harry thought was their only cool album. But then he took it off. Cedric might think that Harry liked Panic! at the Disco after they dropped the exclamation mark and became significantly less punk. So Harry put on his AFI shirt instead. He felt like a badass. Just then, he heard a knock at the front door and rushed to get it before Vernon could. 

“I got it, I got it Vernon!”

“That’s all good with me, I’m preoccupied here with some drills,” called Vernon.

Harry didn't see the drills in question, but often Vernon would bring home drills to test out in their backyard. He always said he was looking for mineral rights on their property, but they had one-tenth of an acre, so it seemed unlikely he would be successful. 

Harry threw the door open, and there was Cedric, in a The Used t-shirt. God he’s so hot, Harry thought quickly. The Used was such a badass band, and Harry wished he had as cool a shirt as Cedric. “Nice shirt,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Cedric, then beckoned Harry to his motorcycle. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah, of course!” Cedric passed Harry the helmet and Harry tentatively wrapped his arms around Cedric. During the course of their ride, Harry didn’t even notice where they were going; all he could focus on was Cedric's strong back and toned abs. Eventually they got to the Roller Rink. There were a ton of teens standing around in the parking lot. 

“I’ve never been here, but it's supposed to be a lot of fun.”

“I’m sure it will be a ton of fun!” Cedric beamed at Harry and took his hand, and they walked in. The room was cavernous. There were strobe lights giong, along with various lights dancing along the ground. 

They walked up to a counter where a fat Steve Buscemi-looking fellow was taking customers' shoes. 

“They’re going to give us special shoes to wear. What’s your shoe size, Harry?” Harry stared back up at Cedric. No one had asked him this question before. He always just got Dudley’s or Vernon’s old shoes. 

“I… I don’t know.”

“Oh...hmmm, you look like an 8 and half,” Cedric said, and gave him a pair of rollerskates. When Harry put them on, they were significantly tighter than Dudley’s old shoes, but in a good way. They felt perfect. 

Cedric and Harry skated for hours. Harry was having the time of his life. They rollerskated and then they played some arcade games, and then they smoked the single cigarette that Cedric brought. Harry felt like a badass. Mostly, though, the two found themselves talking a lot. Harry told Cedric all about fish, and Cedric told Harry about what Hufflepuff was like. Harry tried to talk to Cedric while on the floor of the roller rink, but it was very loud, and the dancing lights made it hard to hear Cedric, so most of the conversation was in Harry’s mind. 

At the end of the night, Cedric dropped Harry off. It had been a great night. Whenever Harry brushed up against Cedric, he felt like he was vibrating with nervous energy. He didn't want to let Cedric go. 

“Hey Cedric, I was wondering... could you help me study for my GED or whatever the british equivalent of that is?”

“What is that?”

“It’s a test to help you get paid more.”

“Oh yeah, I can help with that.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, and with that he went up to his room. 

When Harry got home that night, he let Hedwig out of her cage. The owl immediately took off into the night. Harry noticed there was a letter on his bed from Hermione. She wrote about what her days were like at Hogwarts, and told him about the tournament happening at the school this year. Though she didn’t mention her emotional state in the letter, Harry had always thought Hermione came on a bit strong with her feelings toward him. Harry thought it was so obvious: she always negged Ron, and would always be so emotional about Harry. Harry wished Hermione had never read The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists.

Harry read the letter and felt a little sad about not returning to Hogwarts, but knew that if he had gone, he would have been swept up in that tournament nonsense. 

Harry began to read a book about fishing, which Mr. Blake Lively had given him. Harry didn’t realize just how many fish there were in the world. Just as he got to a good part, about the movie Finding Nemo, Dudley knocked on his door. 

“Harry, gulp gulp gulp, it’s me gulp, Dudley,”

“Oh hey, Dudley,” Harry said. He hated Dudley.

“Do you think... do you think I look fishy?”

“No,” Harry said without looking at Dudley.

“Oh, okay.” With that, Dudley walked away. Harry thought he may have heard Dudley crying. But he wasn’t paying much attention. 

Later, after he went to sleep, he was woken abruptly by a loud noise from Dudley’s room. He put on his slippers and snuck down the hallway to see what was happening. Dudley was tearing apart his room, yelling out, “I don’t want to be a fish!” Harry looked at him, for once in his life, really looked at Dudley, and thought, oh god, he does look like a fish. How did I not notice the scales and strange mouth? Has he always looked like a fish? Suddenly, Dudley was having a hard time breathing. He jumped into the bathtub, and after a great glug, he seemed to be doing better. 

Dudley sat in the bathtub for a long time, just crying. “I never asked to be a fish, I never wanted this!” It was painful for Harry to watch. Dudley was a self-hating fish. No man should be that way. Dudley needed to become proud of his scales - to become proud of his cod-given nature. 

Harry didn’t know how to reach Dudley in that moment, but as he crept back to his room, he vowed to make sure that Dudley knew it was a good thing to be a fish. He vowed to make sure Dudley knew he, Harry Potter, was proud to have a fish for a cousin. And lastly, he vowed to never cry alone in a bathroom, because that was wildly pathetic, and honestly as much as he liked fish, he kind of thought his cousin was a loser for doing that. 

Harry got back to his bedroom and saw that Hedwig was back. She perched on the windowsill. Her wing was a bit bloodied, and she was looking more...sneaky than usual. As soon as Harry opened the window, the owl threw herself on the floor and began to pull herself along the ground. She tried to use her back bones to move, as if she didn’t have hands. Harry grabbed the owl and put her in her cage. He didn't think much of it, and wished her goodnight before going to bed. 

When Harry got up the next day, he knew exactly what it was time to do. After his wonderful night of studying with Cedric, he was certain that he needed to know if Cedric liked him or not. So he resolved to go to the witch that his colleague had mentioned. He was a little afraid -- what if she recognized him? So many people recognized him in Diagon Alley alone. He was famous, after all. So he decided to wear a Groucho Marx mustache, nose and eyeglasses kit. It was a little over the top, but it would do the trick. 

He walked the entire way to the house, which was actually just a few hours from the Dursleys’. When he got there, he recognized it immediately. It was Mrs. Norris’s house. He knocked. 

“Hello?” Mrs. Norris said when she saw Harry. “Who are you?” Perfect, Harry thought, the disguise was definitely working. 

“I’m here to see a Hilda the Adult-Age Witch about a crush.”

“Oh yes of course, she’s in the basement,” Mrs. Norris said. She led Harry past her cats and assorted knick-knacks to a horrible-looking cellar. This basement was definitely not finished. It smelled like dead cats and rotting fish. It was also very small. But there was a woman sitting in the tiny space. She had a crystal ball in front of her, a stack of large cards to her left, and many colorful rocks laid out on a table. 

“Hilda, it’s me, Harry Potter!” 

Mrs. Norris gasped. 

Harry continued. “I’m here to find out if Cedric Diggory likes me.”

“Sit down,sit down!” she crowed. He sat on a crate that was turned upside down in front of her table. “Now, tell me about your interactions between you and this Diggory boy.” 

“Well, he asked me out the other day, then a few days later we went to the roller rink and he said he would help me study for the GED or whatever the british equivalent of that is. He let me ride on his motorcycle with him, and he always listens to what I have to say.” Hilda was snoring by this point; Harry assumed it was part of her magic. “And he is always laughing at my terrible jokes, like this one: ‘Laser Hair Removal? C’mon, who has laser hair?!’” 

Hilda awoke with a jolt.

“Harry! That’s not a terrible joke, that's a great joke!” Hilda said with awe. 

“Oh...well thanks, do you want to hear the one about dentists?” 

“Yes,”

And so for the next hour, Harry told Hilda all the jokes he had been writing in hopes of one day becoming an open mic comedian. Harry didn’t know if that was a thing in Britain, but if it wasn’t, he was sure that he could find somewhere that would let him tell jokes to strangers in public places. After Harry had gone through his entire setlist of jokes and then did his one-Harry show for Hilda, he asked about Cedric again.

“Yes, of course, Cedric likes you, he asked you out. You don’t need a witch to know that!”

And with that, Harry left, feeling better about both his chances of becoming Cedric’s boyfriend and of becoming a good open mic comedian. 

AN: I know that how dealt with Dudley was a little bit of toxic masculinity on Harry's part, but I promise that is going to be addressed in future chapters. Like, I’m just letting you guys know that is part of Harry’s character arc. Dudley becomes a fish and Harry deals with his toxic masculinity, that’s what this story is. Classic fish and masculinity combo, you can buy it at Burger King as a number 3. Also, don’t steal my laser hair joke, I do that on stage, and once I become an open mic comedian, I’ll get very testy about joke-thievery.


	10. Chapter Ten: Mr. Blake Lively’s Wife

Harry stopped by the river the next day before work. Harry loved the smell of the river, as there was no other place in the whole town that smelled more strongly of rotting fish save for the Fish Fry. Mr. Blake Lively was there. He looked shaken - and not like a martini. “Mr. Blake Lively! Mr. Blake Lively, is that you?” His foggy eyes refused clarity when he saw Harry. 

“Oh, it’s you, boy. What do you need?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m... I’m. Well. I was just lost in thought.” 

“Oh, well I find the best way to yourself get through a difficult thought is to share it!” said Harry. 

“Yes, I suppose.” Mr. Blake Lively sighed deeply, “The other night, my wife -- Mrs. Blake Lively -- well, her brother was murdered.” 

Harry was very bored by the rest of Mr. Blake Lively’s talking. He cared about fish and scales and what you could catch with a fishing pole, not serial killers and murder. Didn’t Mr. Blake Lively understand the nature of their relationship? Harry nodded and asked basic questions when he had to. 

When Harry got back to this home he decided to watch some Sex and the City with Hedwig. Hedwig didn't seem to like it as much as she once had. But to be fair, they were watching season five, which was widely regarded as the worst season. 

Harry was laughing pretty hard at something Samantha said when he heard a strange clink at his window. It annoyed him, so he ignored it. But then it happened again and again. This was frustrating, but whatever it was probably just raining. Then suddenly, a giant boulder crashed through his window, leaving broken glass everywhere. 

“Harry! It’s me, Cedric!” Cedric climbed up the house like Nathan Drake from the Uncharted games. “I thought I could help you study for the GED.”

“Oh… but what about my window…?” Cedric did a quick spell and the window came back together. 

“Thanks,” said Harry. The two of them sat on the floor and got out Harry’s GED books. They looked at all the questions about math and reading and science and government and blood rituals and finally settled on studying geography. They were staring at maps. It was intoxicating. Cedric would name a country and Harry had to guess what the capital was. Harry did not get a single country right, even The United States of America. 

Cedric pointed to a spot in the western United States. “The Rocky Mountains,” he said, and ran his middle finger down the map’s mountains. Harry couldn’t let his eyes leave Cedric’s. He ran his fingers down the Andes Mountains in return. 

“Cedric… I.. I’m learning so much.” Harry quietly leaned into Cedric and their lips met for a brief but fiery kiss. Shortly after that, Cedric had to leave. Harry’s mind was full of mountain ranges that night. 

The next day, Harry got another letter from Hermione.

Dear Harry,  
How are you? I hope that you are going to continue your education somehow. I know that you don’t want to come back to Hogwarts, but I still wish you would reconsider it. I mean-- please, Harry, just think about it. You have defeated Voldemort more than once. You could be one of the best wizards ever if you just came back to Hogwarts.  
The tournament is crazy. There are French people in the castle. They are very rude. And also very hot. Harry, if you came back there would at least be hot girls. Also there are wizarding fish-- does that do it for you Harry? Magical beast fish? Because I’m sure that Hagrid would get the most fish he could just for you.   
There is a boy who won’t stop stalking me in the library. He is a tall quidditch player. I think you would like him, or at least not hate him as much as Ron does. His name is Viktor Krum. He brought me a bouquet of dandelions the other day. It made me sneeze so hard that I had to regrow a liver in the infirmary ward.   
Studying has been going well for me. I just keep getting As. Isn’t that great, Harry? I wish you could be with me to get As in class. I answered so many questions in class today. All the teachers love me except Snape, who beats me with cauldron. 

Love,   
Hermione. 

Harry almost stopped reading when Hermione asked him to come back to Hogwarts, but he read on. He wrote up a long reply, detailing all the things about fish that he had learned since his last letter. He also asked her to talk about class less and her love life more. Now he was regretting asking her anything about love. Harry wrote back several things about fish and sent his letter to Hermione.

Harry sent the letter that night, but when he woke up, the owl was not there. Hedwig hadn’t returned. Harry figured that Hermione had just stolen his owl. He was momentarily relieved, realizing that he wouldn't have to take care of a non-fish pet. But then he was sad. He went about his day in a sad haze. He ached to see his pet once more, if only to say a true goodbye. Harry was mad that he wouldn't be able to send letters to Hogwarts anymore, mad that his connection with the wizarding world was gone. 

But then when he got back home, Hedwig was stuffed in the mailbox, feet out, much like the Wicked Witch of the West when she was hit by that house (Hedwig had stockingS on). Oh thank god, someone mailed her back to me, Harry thought. There was a note attached from Hermione, but it did not indicate anything about Hedwig being injured. He took the owl upstairs to his room and laid her on his bed. “Hedwig...Hedwig!” he kept repeating, hoping that the owl would wake up. Her wings were bloodied and one of her eyes was replaced by a glass eye, and she had lost all of her clothes so that she was completely naked. It horrified Harry. It absolutely disgusted him. A naked owl was not a thing he wanted to see on a Tuesday. 

To distract himself from the horror of a nearly dead pet bird, he put on an episode of Sex and the City. Harry had always wondered what city could have possibly been the titular city of Sex and the City. This episode in particular was the one where Charlotte has her vagina painted by a faux Georgia O'Keeffe. Harry thought it was a little bit sexist that this Georgia O'Keefe plot line only worked because the faux Georgia was a male, but he was too invested in his owl to write his true emotions down on a piece of paper and remember them forever. 

The show came to a scene where the four women were getting dinner and talking about sex and stuff. Harry liked this show becuase he knew it would be better than any sex education he could ascertain-- in or out of Hogwarts. Samatha had just said something exceptionally sexual-- something that Harry wished he would have the confidence to say to Cedric one day. Hedwig let out a soft chirp chirp. Harry was elated that she was okay. Hedwig loved Samantha, but she was honestly more of a Charlotte than a Samantha. Harry, in jest, would sometimes call her a Miranda, but only when he was feeling cruel, like the Wicked Witch of the West before that house fell on her and she was still alive. (Harry hadn’t read Wicked, so he had a one-dimensional understanding of the Wicked Witch of the West’s character). Hedwig was laughing her feathers off. Harry was worried this might open some of her wounds, but ultimately if she was happy, he was happy. Together, they laughed at the women and their early 2000s New York City antics . Harry felt educated, “woke” and content.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Harry, the Chosen Boy to Get a GED Or Whatever the British Equivalent Is

Today was the day. After Harry had studied with Cedric, he knew he could pass the GED or whatever the british version of that is now. Harry stood in front of the boring looking government building. It looked like something you would see in the facebook group “brutalism appreciation for lesbian teenagers” which Harry was not a part of, because his sexual identity was that of a gay man and he understood boundaries. 

Apart from his failed GED test, Harry hadn’t taken a test since his time at Hogwarts. He remembered how Snape would beat him with a cauldron when he got a potion wrong. Well, if only Snape could see him now. He would be so jealous of Harry and his GED test. 

When he walked in, he had to go past the metal detector again, but this time he was prepared. He didn't bring his keys or wear a belt. The only thing he had on his person was a number two pencil. Harry figured a number one pencil would have been one made from fish. 

When he got to the GED office and began taking the test, he felt like he was on fire. He knew all the countries and their capitals. He knew how to do algebra and what the scientific method was. He could have lit that scantron on fire with how fast he was able to answer the questions, but luckily he did not and was able to turn his test in unscathed. 

The woman behind the counter graded his scantron by hand, like Harry assumed people are supposed to. Finally, after roughly five minutes of grading, she looked up and said “Harry, you owned the ‘GED or whatever the british equivalent of that would be,’ boy,” and he smiled and then she smiled and then the security guard in the corner smiled and then the man pissing in a box in front of the door smiled and then the cockroaches on the floor smiled and and then the bright red stain in the shape of a human body smiled, and then Bellatrix Lestrange in Azkaban smiled and then everyone was kind of happy. She gave him a small card that was his GED certificate, which he put in his wallet right next to his stolen library card and Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Way’s learner’s permit. He skipped the entire way to the Fish Fry. He only missed a step when he saw the bright red stain in the shape of a human body at the entrance of the GED office. No one else seemed to notice it -- in fact, one person walked right through it, leaving a trail of bloody red tracks everywhere he went. 

“Oscar! Oscar, I did it!”

“What now my friend? Get all the fish finished for today?”

“No! I did my GED test!”

“Wow! Well hopefully you passed.”

“Yes! I did pass this time!”

“Well that’s wonderful boy, please get to doing your job though.”

Harry smiled widely. There was nothing he wanted more than to wash the fish off of used dishes. So he quickly got into a steady rhythm. Dish, then knife, then dish, then spoon, and so on. Only when he was done with all the dishes would he move on to forks. 

Harry was diligently washing his dishes. His eyes were focused on the sink. But he happened to look up for just a second and saw a truly hideous sight. A mouse scurried right past him and out the door. It was the first time he had seen anything like it in the Fish Fry. 

“Oscar… Do we have mice?”

“WHAT?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I know sometimes I can be a bit quiet. OSCAR! DO WE HAVE MICE?” 

Everyone in the store was looking at Harry now. 

“I SAID, DO WE HAVE MICE? I THINK I SAW A DISGUSTING GROSS MOUSE IN THE BACK JUST NOW.”

“WHAT?!?!” This came not from Oscar, but rather from multiple people eating in the lobby. 

“Fucking hell, boy!” Oscar grabbed Harry and pulled him into the back. “Of course we have mice. Every store around here has mice. This is England, all these buildings are centuries old and they can’t tear them down because of historical preservation or whatever, but that means we all have a ton of mice. You just can’t go around yelling that where customers can hear!”

“...Oh.” Harry felt bad, so he put extra effort into making sure that the dishes were washed with perfection. He was in a sour mood, though, even when he got off.

Harry went the long way home on his way back. He felt awful for having said that thing about the mice so loudly. His boss was right, he needed to learn how to use an inside voice. Anger wasn’t cool anymore -- this wasn’t the 90’s music scene in Seattle. This was the early 2000s indie music scene. He had to learn how to whisper-sing, like Ben Gibbard of the Postal Service, Death Cab for Cutie, and various appearances on other bands’ tracks. He was so caught up with contempt for his own anger that he didn’t notice he was already next to the levee. 

He passed by Mr. Blake Lively, who was fishing, and went to stop to talk to him. But before he made his way over there, he spotted Dudley. Dudley was talking to a girl who Harry was surprised to recognize. It was Arnold's daughter, but she was much older than she was in the picture Arnold had on the frying station. Harry accidentally overheard their conversation. 

“Are you sure?” she said to Dudley. 

“Gulp -- yes -- gulp,” and with that the girl took Dudley’s gills -- gills?! Harry looked again. Yes, apparently his cousin had gills. He wished that he was a better family member so he could have actually noticed these things before now. The girl was kissing Dudley. Dudley was trying to kiss back, but the angle of his fishy face wouldn’t allow him to lower himself enough to get good access to her face. So it just looked like the girl was kissing his scaly neck. 

“Is this good?” she asked shly. 

“Not really -- gulp.” With that, Dudley did a dive into the river below. There was a small splash and then nothing. 

The girl began to cry. Harry thought she sounded like something out of the Seattle grunge music scene of the 90s. Or just like something out of The Grudge. No wonder that man-fish didn’t want to kiss her. According to Harry’s limited knowledge of man-fish they were players. Either that, or The Shape of Water had lied to Harry. 

When Harry got back to the Dursleys’, Cedric’s motorcycle was out front. “Cedric...Cedric?” Harry called out. 

Suddenly, Cedric stepped out from a bush. “Harry!” 

Harry grinned widely. “Cedric, guess what!” 

“What?!”

“I passed my GED or whatever the british equivalent would be to that test today!” 

Cedric embraced Harry tightly and spun him around. He was just as elated as Harry. 

“That’s wonderful! Let’s go get shakes from Steak and Shake™ to celebrate!”

“Okay!” said Harry, and they went off on Cedric’s motorcycle to the nearest Steak and Shake™. Harry loved Steak and Shake™ because it was open 24 hours, and also because of the various shake flavors. He wanted to try something new today, and knew that Stake and Shake™ always had new flavors. 

Cedric and Harry were poring over the delicious Steak and Shake™ menu. Cedric had decided on getting the Black Raspberry Strawberry Chip Shake™ with a side of cajun fries. He had wanted to get a Butterbeer Shake, but the employee told them this wasn’t “Universal Studios London.” Harry didn't know what that meant. Harry eventually -- after a long internal debate with himself -- ended up getting the Cotton Candy Shake™, which is a limited time shake as of summer 2020, so hurry up and go to Stake and Shake™ and mention this fanfic so I can get my advertising revenue. 

Their shakes came in a very quick manner. Cedric began to look nervous. It couldn't have been the food, which was delicious and amazing, so it had to be their relationship. 

“Cedric, what’s going on?” asked Harry. 

“It’s… I can’t sneak out of Hogwarts anymore, Harry. This is the last time I’ll see you until the Christmas break,” Cedric replied.

“Damn that sucks! But at least we got to spend it together here at Steak and Shake™.”

Cedric nodded. “Yes, I feel the same way.” 

“I love Steak and Shake™,” stammered Harry.

“I also love Steak and Shake™.”

Their date was perfect after that. They both ordered 2 more shakes and they stayed up most of the night, just talking about the random nonsense all boys find to talk about. But mostly they talked about how great Steak and Shake™ is and also fish.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Sharknato 5

One morning, Harry got up early. Usually he would spend a lot of time in the morning trying to decide what his favorite fish was. Often he ended up picking the catfish, but sometimes he landed on cod. But not today! For it was his favorite post-Thanksgiving holiday: Shark Week. He was watching the National Geographic channel for hours on end. He used his first vacation day ever just so he could watch Sharknato 5. Sharknato was the movie where it’s the North Atlantic Treaty Organization but with sharks. This was the fifth movie, which Harry thought wasn’t the best. In it, the Sharks deal with the development of the Cold War and begin to regret the idea of “massive retaliation”. He thought the actor playing the shark-Truman could have been a little more subtle. Honestly, it was no Sharknato 3, which was a movie where shark-Truman got political support for the Mutual Defense Assistance Act by biting off the heads of the American communists. Harry was not anti-communist, but he did enjoy the shark political violence. 

It was during a particularly intense moment, where shark-Truman was about to build more overseas military bases for the American military industrial complex, that Dudley walked in.

“What are you watching?”

“Just Shark Week,” 

“NO! No Shark Week in this house,” 

“What?” said Harry, right before Dudley dropkicked the tv. “DUDLEY!” Harry yelled.

“No Shark Week!” 

Dudley was upset. Harry could tell because he had the forced frown of a swordfish. Dudley spat at the TV and walked out of the room. Harry was beyond frustrated. He didn't know anything about the actual history of Truman’s military politics, but he was enjoying the Sharknato 5. As Dudley set up a new television and began tuning it to the news, Harry decided it was time to make the Dursleys their breakfast, as he did every morning. 

He was sizzling some bacon. From the other room he could Dudley watching the news -- there was a story about a man dying at Disneyworld London after being so scared he pissed out all the liquid in his body in the haunted house. Harry was bored by this story and decided to tell Vernon and Petunia about how Steak and Shake™ had a great cotton candy shake. He also told them about how he had gotten his GED or whatever the British equivalent of that is, and he told them about how he saw a mouse in the Fish Fry. Vernon just yawned and asked if he had any drill-related news to tell him, to which Harry responded no , as he did every morning. Petunia was interested in the mouse situation and Harry told her all about it -- the shape and size of the mouse, and how Oscar said that all restaurants have some level of mice. With that, he decided it was time to get ready for work. 

As he was putting on his polo, Hedwig dropped into his room. She was holding a letter from Hermione, and she hissed at Harry when he tried to get the letter from her talons. “Geez Hedwig, it’s just me,” Harry said.

Dear Harry--  
I can’t believe that you didn’t come back to Hogwarts! What the fuck, man?! (Ron made me write that. He can’t believe you didn’t come either. He also says that he can’t write or read, so he won’t be writing to you.) We all wish you were here. 

There is a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He is very ugly. Suddenly I can understand why you didn’t come. He has a weird lazy eye and a peg leg. I did not think we would be taught by the world's least charming pirate this year, but here we are. During the great feast, he didn’t eat anything off his plate and only ate dirt from his pockets. Maybe this is a great Defense Against the Dark Arts technique that he will teach us, but really he’s probably just into eating pocket lint. 

There is going to be a great tournament here at Hogwarts. Two other schools have sent some of their students here to take part. That’s why the French students are here. It’s called the Triwizard Tournament. They’ll fight in dangerous games, and whoever wins will get 1000 galleons. Isn’t that crazy?! Harry, if you were here, you could have been part of it! 

Harry, it’s rumored that Voldemort killed Tom Hanks. I don’t know if you’ve seen Forrest Gump or any other Tom Hanks movies, but now that guy is dead. And we won’t get Forrest Gump 2: Gumption in Overdrive. Isn’t that sad? Dumbledore says it’s because Voldemort doesn’t like the name Tom, but that sounds stupid, right? 

Dumbledore also told us that Voldemort hates the television show Gossip Girl and that he would kill any Muggle involved with the making of the show! Even for something as small as being an assistant makeup artist or a brother-in-law to a stunt double! Voldemort would probably kill a Muggle’s entire family for working on Gossip Girl. That’s crazy, this Voldemort guy is hardcore. Hopefully Dumbledore does something about it. 

Affectionately, 

Hermione

PS. Voldemort also hated that movie about girls who wear the same pants and travel to different locations wearing the pants. 

\-----------

It was the winter break. Harry figured there would be less people eating fish as it got colder, and for the most part he was right. But there were some new customers, including Mr. Blake Lively. 

“Well, I can’t go fishing in this weather-- my wife, Blake Lively, won’t let me!” 

“Oh well. Has anything been found out about her brother’s….?”

“Murderer? No, but we’re working on it,” Mr. Blake Lively said, and pulled out a large book. There were newspaper articles, pictures, and even blood samples all thrown together in there. “We’re going to solve it and get our revenge.” 

“I know a little thing about revenge, sir,” Harry said. But before he could open up about his parents' tragic deaths at the hands of the turd Voldemort, his manager butted in.

“The best thing to go with revenge is catfish soup! Isn’t that right Harry?”

“Oh yeah. Sure,” 

“Now put that book away, you're going to scare our customers…” He looked around, and upon realizing the utter lack of customers, he changed course. “You’re going to scare Arnold!”

Arnold was manning his frying station. He stared straight ahead, eyes glazed like a Krispy Kreme Donut as he mechanically did his job. He was not so much unfocused, as completely zoned out. Maybe he was sleepwalking and had a bad case of sleep paralysis. Maybe he was, in a sense, dead already. Who knew. He definitely did not care about Mr. Blake Lively and his book. 

“Okay, I’m putting it away. The man has no need to cower anymore,” said Mr. Blake Lively. It was then that Oscar decided to pull Harry into the back. Harry had been expecting this. He knew his previous outburst about the mouse was unacceptable and that Oscar was still very mad. He could tell because Oscar was wearing a shirt that said “I’M VERY MAD” in big red letters. He had changed into it when he saw Harry. 

“Harry, I can’t believe you said that mouse thing so loudly yesterday!” Harry’s boss was lecturing him in the fish freezer. He felt terrible. He hated letting the boss down, especially in this mouse situation. Harry wished all mice would just die. But he knew that would be bad for the economy, or ecosystem, or whatever Hermione would say. 

Oscar continued. “We have a health inspector coming sometime in the next few months or years.”

“God dammit! I’m sorry sir, that was so stupid of me.” 

“Harry, we all make mistakes. Acknowledging the store has mice was a big mistake, but it will be okay.” Harry found this hard to believe. But the boss seemed so sure. “Harry, do you know how to use a gun?” Oscar asked him.

“A what, sir?”

“It’s what we kill mice with.”

“Oh, no I don’t know how to use one, but I’ll learn sir!”

“Good. I’ll meet you Saturday morning at the shooting range. We’ll get you a gun permit.” 

Author’s Note: I know Shark Week happens in August (that’s my birthday month) and that it's on the Discovery Channel, not NatGeo, but this story is fiction and anything can happen.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: A scale for a scale leaves the whole ocean naked

Now that Harry had his GED, he was determined to get a raise. He was educated. He had a certificate. He knew how to wash the fish scales off a bloodied knife. He knew he should get this promotion. But that didn’t stop his nerves. He went to the library and asked the reference clerk for books about getting more money. She sent him to the business section.

Harry read everything-- How To Win Friends and Influence People, The 48th Law, The 50th Law (Harry loved 50 Cent), The Hard Thing About Hard Things, Rich Dad Poor Dad -- but mostly he was inspired by Sheryl Sandberg, the COO of Facebook, and her book Lean In. Harry knew he could both lean and clean. Plus, that Sandberg lady was pretty hot. The only problem was that he didn't know what Facebook was, or if it had been invented by this time. He wished there was a movie, one directed by the same guy who did Fight Club and written by the person who does the West Wing scripts, that could just explain everything to him. But that would never happen! Additionally, he wished that Sandberg had considered less privileged people than herself in her feminism. Most people weren’t worried about how to get a corporate C-level job. Feminism should be working on making sure folks have enough to eat and reducing the high death rate of trans folks (especially of trans folks of color), and working towards ending racism. Sandberg barely touched on those topics. 

Harry thought some more about what skills might be useful to advancing his career. For one thing, the boss had invited him to learn how to shoot a gun. This was great. He was expected to learn and perform a new skill for his job. This would be great leverage for the raise he wanted to get. But first, he knew, he had to study the techniques of the gun. 

He rose early on Saturday morning, knowing that it would be a long bike ride to the gun range. But first he had to make his aunt and uncle breakfast. They would want bacon and sausage and pure maple syrup again. Harry would have a stale saltine, if he was lucky. 

“This bacon was done decently, Harry,” This high praise from his uncle was usually reserved for drill-based topics like when the Gurren Lagann anime came out, and suddenly kids were getting into drills. 

“Thank you,” replied Harry.

“Gulp gulp!” Dudley chimed in. Harry didn’t know if Dudley was making fun of him, or if the scales coming out of his body were real. But he chose to ignore this comment. Instead, he took a deep breath as the mariana trench, where many mysterious and interesting fish lived and mustered his courage

“Um, Uncle Vernon-- what’s a gun?” he asked.

Vernon made a face. He almost spat out his perfectly fried bacon, but he chomped it back down. This was the same face Vernon made anytime a non-drill topic was brought up. 

“It’s an American thing. Why, boy?” Vernon seemed to think a gun was something Harry shouldn’t want. 

“Oh. My boss thinks I should carry one, for the mice.” 

“Well, I don’t have to use on a gun attachment on any of the drills for my company, but I would carry one if my boss asked me to.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yes. You should do what your boss asks of you.”

Harry thought of that when he biked to the strip mall where the gun range was. Oh yeah, Harry bought a bike with his fish money. Let’s say that happened in chapter nine. He saw his boss’s Lamborghini in the parking lot, and he was glad that he was at the right place. He could always tell it was his boss’s Lamborghini and not anyone else’s because it was bright green and the plate said HRD KORE FISH LUVR. Harry wondered why his boss’s plates were allowed so many letters. 

Harry walked into the gun range. His boss, Oscar, was there. Oscar showed him to the shooting range, where he had been loading his gun. Harry knew it was now or never. “Sir, I think it’s time I get a raise.” 

Boom! Oscar had accidentally shot off his gun. Luckily, he only shot an American cop.

“I think so too Harry, as long as you don’t tell anyone about that cop!” 

“Of course,” said Harry. While Harry and Oscar were shooting their guns, an employee put the cop in a body bag and threw him in the gun range’s incinerator. After they were done murdering and disposing of the pig, they went to work together. 

It was a quiet Thursday at the Fish Fry. All the customers had ordered the catfish soup. Not a single person ordered the Filet MonGoldfish, or the guppy slider, or the truffle turtle on a stick, or the darter confit, or the lamb. But then...he walked in. 

He was a tall, hulking man, but he was gorgeous in his way. When Harry saw him, he thought, Oh, I’ve seen this man in the 2006 movie Gridiron Game, or the Doom movie, or maybe in the Jem and the Holograms movie from 2015. But I know I saw him in the trailer for Jungle Cruise, the new Disney movie that is based on the ride at Disneyland. That movie looked totally baller. 

“Hey,” said the man. Harry could have melted. “It’s me, The Rock, and I’m here to buy all your cod!”

“Okay, that will be 257 dollars and 67 cents,” Oscar said automatically. 

“Does that include the frozen cod in the back?”

“Yes. For here or to go?”

“For here.”

The Rock had just ordered 21 dishes of cod. Arnold was setting them on the biggest table, the only one that The Rock could physically sit down at. Harry was so distracted by watching The Rock eat 10 pounds of cod in one sitting that he neglected his dishwashing duties, but he went home that night an informed man. Now he knew what steroids would do to a man’s love of fish. Harry vowed to find steroids once he turned 18 and drugs were morally ‘game’ for him.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Give a Mouse a Gun

Harry was on edge at work the next day. He wanted to deal with this mouse problem. He had obtained his gun, and now he also had an entire hour’s worth of education on how to use it. He picked up his sponge, but his eyes were on the floor, scanning for mice. 

After an hour of only getting six dishes washed, he was allowed to take his fifteen minute break. Harry kind of hated how his workplace did this. They were not yet in their busiest time of day, but he didn’t really need a break yet. He was sitting in the lobby drinking some of the free Pepsi products that they got. And that’s when Harry saw it-- a rat scurrying across the countertop. Harry knew what to do. He grabbed his AK-47 and began to shoot at the mouse. Once the steam from his gun cleared, he looked up. He didn’t see a dead mouse. But he did see a dead pigeon. 

“Damn, that pigeon was a regular!” Oscar said. “HARRY, WHAT IN GOOD GUPPIES NAME ARE YOU DOING?!”

“Protecting and serving the Fish Fry,” said Harry meekly.

“That’s damn nonsense boy. You gotta get at least 5 hours of gun education before you start shooting where there are other people. GO HOME!”

Harry slumped his back all the way home, this was especially hard because he was not sitting down. He felt so stupid. He felt useless -- like a cop in America. But he vowed to be better than that. He knew that by tossing his gun into the river, and focusing not on the mice, but on himself he could easily be better than an American cop. Honestly, because Harry was not racist, he was already better than an American cop. 

When Harry got home he saw Aunt Petunia on the phone. She had a hushed voice and looked especially sneaky when he passed her. She was saying something about ‘the public good,’ and ‘rats everywhere,’ and ‘health inspector.’ Harry thought she might be onto some good gossip. When he got to his room, he saw that Hermione had sent him a letter. He read quickly, making sure that he didn’t miss a single thing. In his last letter, he told Hermione about all the various skins of fish he had tried, about what it was like catching his first fish...he even mentioned that he met Blake Lively’s stunt double’s husband. There was no way Hermione would think that was not cool. There was no way she would ask him to come back to Hogwarts after all that. Harry began to read. 

Harry--   
It’s me, Hermione-- from Hogwarts. Happy Christmas! It is totally awful not to see you during the holiday season. Ron and I both miss you, though Ron still won’t speak your name. Nor will he speak my name anymore. I have decided to go to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum. He’s from Drumstrang. He has a lot of muscles, but he has difficulty with talking. Ron seems to be very jealous of Viktor.   
I miss you dearly. If you were here, I could just tell you to tell Ron to ask me to the Yule Ball. But now I just have to go with Viktor. He dances like a flamingo, with one pink leg up at all times. It’s very distracting and makes it hard to do dances like the Charleston. 

Hermione went on and on about her love life with this crummy guy. Harry read it all, and bantered with her in his letter, but he wished he could tell her about Cedric. But Harry knew that if he told Hermione, she would tell Ron, and Ron would be jealous. Not only was Harry the best at fish of their group, but he also had a hot semi-vampire boyfriend! Ron wouldn't be able to live with his jealousy. So Harry kept it to himself, and in the end, he only told Hedwig about Cedric. Harry wrote another letter to Hermione. Mostly he just wrote episode recaps of Sex and the City. 

When he gave Hedwig the letter, he noticed that she had written something in her cage. A note of her own, he thought. But it was not in the English alphabet; rather, it was in a series of crude marks. It looked like a snake could have done it, to be honest. Harry was amazed at himself for knowing what the markings meant. It said, “Snakes are cool and better than owls.” What a specific message she had left in her cage, he thought. 

Harry figured that what Hedwig was really trying to tell him was that her cage needed to be cleaned. Harry wished she could have been like a fish. Fish never needed a clean cage because water was always clean. The water on the Simpsons cartoon was clean, water that had been part of the 2004 BP oil spill was clean, even piss was clean (for it was a type of water). Harry wished that fish could deliver messages. But many people did not live close to water. Maybe in the past that is why people lived close to water, so that they could use fish to deliver messages to one another. Certainly not because water was a necessary part of a functioning human body, but because of fish’s messenger capabilities. Who knew, really. 

As Harry was cleaning up the snake appreciation message from Hedwig’s cage, she came back. She hissed at him. She had a surprisingly thin tongue that looked to be cut in two at the end of it. “God! If you don’t want me to clean your cage that’s fine! Do it yourself!” Harry yelled. She hissed at him again, but picked up the rag in her wing and began cleaning the bars. “Fucking owl,” Harry muttered.

This set Hedwig off. She hissed and hissed at Harry, and when Harry looked in her cage again, there was another message. Snake bitch.

“Hedwig! How dare you use that kind of language in my room!” Harry was livid. What was he doing to this owl? Didn't he treat her with kindness and care? Didn’t he show his love to her every day? Why was she acting out like this-- was she even Christian? Harry really thought he had done a good job of raising the owl, but every day she had more anger toward him. Harry felt like he had tried everything. Cleaning her cage, acknowledging her existence, feeding her... What was left to do? That was what loving an owl was all about. He sighed and looked at his pet. 

“I just don't know what this is about any more. I mean I do so much for you,” He was looking directly into the owl’s eyes. “I love you so much. I try to tell you that, I don’t know if you hear though, I don’t know if owls can hear.” Harry didn’t realize he was speaking in Parseltongue. The owl gave a small chirp. “I just...It’s been so hard. I want to be the best Fish Fry employee possible, and I didn’t know how hard it would be to balance my responsibilities as your owner with my own ambitions.” A single blue tear fell down the owls’ cheek. Harry brought a finger to his owl’s contorted face. “I know it’s hard for you to understand. You’re just an owl. You have no desire, you have no ambition. You don’t know what it’s like to see the great future of fish in front of you and know that it will take your entire life to do right by it. To become a great Fish Fry employee, and know that to do it right, you need to be dedicated. But even so, Hedwig, I just… I was just hoping that you would support me while I try to be the best Fish Fry employee… and the best man I can be.” The owl chirped in response. “Yes, and the best owl owner I can be,” Harry agreed. Hedwig gave a happier chirp. Harry knew he had made many mistakes, but he also knew that if he tried, this owl would live.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: The Grand Ol’ papier-mâché Fish Pinata

Today was going to be a long day. Harry knew it as soon as he saw the birthday party invites on Dudley’s bed. (Harry was in Dudley’s room because Petunia told Harry that he had to read Dudley a nightly story if he was to be living in the house full time again. Harry hated reading, and was also very bad at it, but he figured it was just Dudley). Anyway, Dudley had been invited to a birthday party at the Fish Fry.

Harry had seen much younger kids have birthday parties at the Fish Fry, usually five-year-olds. Sometimes there were elderly men who threw birthday parties there. Once, an elderly man had a birthday there and requested a pinata. After that, Harry had to make pinatas for all of the birthday parties. Harry was glad to be trusted with the new responsibility and greedily added “papier-mâché” to his resume. 

Harry was very bad at papier-mâché at first. He didn’t know the recipe, and neither did anyone at the Fish Fry. Once again, he went to Mr. Blake Lively, who told him it was a mix of water and glue. So he poured a bunch of water on some glue and came up with nothing. He was so confused. Could he really make a hollow fish that was filled with other fish this way? It seemed impossible. The dream was too big. Harry didn’t see any chance of making it big. He was living in a small town, but when he finally broke away from the school (of thought about papier-mâché he had) he thought, Well now I have a little bit of a chance! -- because all he wanted to do was make papier-mâché fish pinatas. And not only make papier-mâché fish pinatas, but also compose papier-mâché fish pinatas. Harry would partially sleep in his car because he didn’t want to drive home, where there were no papier-mâché fish pinatas. And really, he wanted to make papier-mâché fish pinatas from the 50s, and the 60s, and finally papier-mâché fish pintyas of the future. And he said, “I know the synthesizer, which is the sound of the papier-mâché fish pinatas of the future.” But Harry didn’t realize it would have the impact it did. My name is Harry Potter but everyone calls me Harry Potter. 

Once you free your mind about a concept of what a good papier-mâché fish pinata is, you can do whatever you want. So nobody told me what to do, and there was no precondition of what to do. 

(Insert really cool low key dubstep music for seven minutes, please don’t keep reading until you’ve played 7 minutes of various genres of dubstep music in your mind)

But Harry went to work with more than just papier-mâché on his mind. He was dreading seeing Dudley at his place of work. He didn’t even know if Dudley knew that he worked there. The Fish Fry was popular. It was definitely the coolest place to throw a children’s birthday party. Not only did you get endless catfish soup, you also got a little hat that looked like a fisherman's cap, and a cake that looked like a fishing pole. That meant thin slices, so you wouldn't get fat! Wasn't that cool! Oftentimes the cake even had scales on it. What a delight! Harry had seen Oscar baking the cakes in the microwave before. Usually they melted. 

But the best part of the party, hands down the best part, was the goldfish that the guest of honor got. At the end of the party, an employee would bring out a goldfish. 

Harry was excited for all of it. 

Dudley’s party came in around 2PM -- the perfect time for a party. Not too late, not too early, but exactly 2PM on a Saturday. There were about a dozen people. Oscar led them to a special room towards the back of the restaurant for parties. It was decorated like a lake. There was painted scummy water coming up the knee. There was a dock that had a bunch of old beer bottles painted on the wall. There was an ugly sun, complete with a very bright led light that was absolutely annoying. Additionally, there was a fishing line coming down from the ceiling that would often get tangled in Harry's hair. 

The room was the real deal. It was almost like you were fishing at the lake, especially with the 3 inches of standing water in the room at all times, even when it hadn’t rained for weeks. There were ambient noises too. There were sounds of fish mating -- splishes and splashes, some with a certain seductive splung. Often the noises got quite loud, and it would become hard to hear a conversation in the room. Most of the men enjoyed this. It’s why they had their own birthdays there, because they didn’t have to hear their wives talking to them. 

“This is great, Dudley!! Thank you so much for suggesting it!” one of Dudley’s friends exclaimed. 

“Well, my cousin works here now,” Dudley replied back. 

“Oh hell yes, we can beat him up after the cool fish-based party you are having.”

“Oh sweet. Let’s use the bat from the pinata!” 

Harry was not looking forward to this. He did not like being beaten up, and he especially did not like being beaten up with his own workplace’s bat. But if he had to be beaten up for his love of fish, then that was just the way the world was. He could learn how to create a fish-based revolution later, after he had worked towards the liberation of others who had more pressing needs than fish lovers. 

Harry looked at Dudley and his friends. There were 12 boys in total. Each looked like they could have purchased their own grocery store due to hunger -- that is to say, Harry expected them to crush at a game of Supermarket Sweep, and also eat a lot of catfish soup. They didn’t wear cool hats. They didn’t seem to know much about fish. They were just here to beat Harry Potter up (and also his papier-mâché pinata, which Harry loved a lot). 

Harry set out a bowl of catfish soup in front of each of the boys. They slurped the soup! That might have been respectful in Japan, but they were in America-- err, Britain. And in Britain, slurping was offensive -- not only to Harry, but to fish everywhere. These boys were awful. 

But they each ate at least 3 bowls of catfish soup. This was too much catfish soup. The store was going to run out. Arnold would have to make more catfish soup during the day! Usually he made all the catfish soup the week before so that it had time to lose its flavor. A fresh batch of catfish soup was like a rollercoaster dug into the ground, dark and requiring significant drilling capabilities, but also exciting once finished. 

Just then Hedwig came by the store. Hedwig was looking absolutely dapper. She had on a pinstriped suit and a cool Abraham Lincoln-esque top hat. Harry never noticed how tall the owl was until that moment. Hedwig ordered the Herring Stir Fry Noodles and came over to Harry. She had a letter from Cedric. 

Dear Harry,  
I miss you endlessly. I did not get a holiday break because of the Yule Ball. I was forced to take Cho Chang to the dance. She’s nice, but not really my type, you know? Attached is a picture of me in my dress robes. I hope you masturbate to it.   
Love,   
Cedric 

After Harry was done with his letter, he looked up. Dudley and his gang were playing a round of   
“pin the leg on the flamingo.” Just as Dudley was about to pin the leg onto the flamingo’s back, Harry spotted it-- a mouse scurried past the boys playing. Harry moved with exceptional quickness. He grabbed the party room gun, which was in the cart they used to store paper plates and some of the fish. He took two shots, but was only able to hit the mouse’s finger. The other shot hit one of Dudley’s friends in the leg, but honestly he wasn’t even mad because he didn’t really use that leg too much. 

Oscar rushed in when he heard the gun go off “Harry! Did you get him?!” he exclaimed.

“No sir, just one of his fingers,” Harry said, and showed his boss the blown-off rat finger. 

“Wow! This will go great in our next batch of catfish soup!” 

Author’s Note:  
i am a daft punk fan


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Finding the Health Inspector Inside All of Us

When Harry got to work that day, he could tell something was off. The Fish Fry didn’t feel like the Fish Fry. It felt like a middle class white person’s home. It was clean…too clean. There was a distinct smell of cleaning product in the air, which made it hard to smell the rotting fish odor. That odor was legendary - people came to the Fish Fry just for the smell of fish turning from pink to green. 

“Harry! Thank God you're here! Someone tipped off the health department about our rat issue! We have got to get the store up to code,” Oscar said. He threw Harry a rag and a bar of soap. “Get to cleaning the floors! It's the least you can do!” 

Harry had never considered work at the Fish Fry to be back-breaking labor before, but today it was just awful. Cleaning the floors with a bar of soap and rag was tedious and required a lot of spit. 

What bothered Harry the most was that he wasn’t even sure that the health inspector was real. It seemed like such a far-fetched idea. Some guy paid for by the city? The city? C’mon. Going to every restaurant and giving them a grade based on how clean their restaurant is... that’s just crazy. I mean, what purpose would that serve? Anyone with eyes could see that the Fish Fry was a disgusting pit of filthy garbage. They had never taken out the trash. There was no recycling. They had never swept the floors. All the employees ever did -- and this was only ever on the second Monday of the month -- was Windex the windows so that they could still see out of them. This was mostly so that Oscar could watch the joggers as they ran past. Oscar liked to take bets on how fast they were going. 

When Harry got home that day, he knew he needed to take a shower. He didn’t have the smell of rotting fish on him, like he usually did when he got home from work. He didn’t want to smell like Windex and cleaning products. He wanted to smell like dying sea animals. He went upstairs to take a shower. He burst through the bathroom door and threw open the shower curtains, only to see Dudley laying in the bathtub. It was full. Harry assumed from Dudley’s tears because the boy was crying quite a lot. 

“Jesus Fishing Christ, Dudley,” Harry said.

“I’m sorry Harry, I just… I just don’t want to be a fish,” sobbed Dudley

“Dudley, get a hold of yourself. We all want to be fish, but none of us get to be fish. It’s not like it was in elementary school when they told us we could be whatever we wanted. No Dudley, we have to stay in species.” 

This didn’t seem to comfort Dudley, as he kept on crying. Harry hoped that the Metropolitan Sewer and Storm District would have the capacity to handle this extra water flow. 

“Dudley, please. I need to take a shower,” Harry said, exasperated.

Dudley got up, didn't dry off, and went straight to his room. Apparently this small bout of exercise took a lot out of him, because he began wheezing before he actually got to his room. Harry rolled his eyes and began to shower. 

After his shower, Harry returned to his room and Hedwig was in her cage-- with her phone on. She was watching Korean dramas and looking at Twitter. This was becoming a habit of Hedwig’s. Harry hated TV. TV went against the soul of the fish-loving life - to be a Luddite. But he wanted to do better by Hedwig, so he didn’t say anything. 

What was truly alarming to Harry was the Twitter page Hedwig was browsing. It was of an elderly woman who was spouting off anti-trans discourse. Harry hated that. How dare this out-of-touch woman spread TERF discourse to his owl?! Trans folks were awesome and deserved love. Harry was inflamed.He looked up where the woman lived and went to TP her house. He would have burned it down, but he couldn't buy alcohol with his fake ID, as it was a learner's permit for a 16-year-old. But if he could have, he would have made a Molotov cocktail and the world would have one less TERF. 

When Harry got back he opened her cage after a while. “We need to have a long discussion about what feminism is,” he said to the owl. The owl looked ashamed. “It's okay Hedwig, we all have to learn at some point,” Harry said. He went on to tell the owl about the struggles of trans men and women, making sure to focus on how trans folk of color face even more oppression than white trans folks. He told her how the gay rights movement was started by Black trans women like Marsha P Johnson. Harry told the owl about Judith Butler and performance theory, and that the owl’s feminism needed to go beyond Sex and the City. She had to read, and she had to get out there. Harry knew the owl had a long way to go, but that just having the first conversation was a good start. He made a note to buy her some books. Here’s what he wrote:

Harry’s anti-terf reading list and movie list for Hedwig  
Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg  
Ain’t I a Woman? by bell hooks  
Gender Trouble by Judith Butler  
Sister Outsider by Audre Lorde  
Transgender History by Susan Styker  
Redefining Realness by Janet Mock  
A Queer and Pleasant Danger by Kate Bornstein

Movies  
Disclosure - Netflix  
Paris is Burning - free on YouTube  
The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson - Netflix  
Tangerine - Hulu

When Harry was done, he turned to the owl. “Do you want to go out hunting?” he asked. She burped at him and kept on watching Boys Over Flowers. She was crying. She had a large blanket over herself and was holding a large container of ice cream in her talons. She was an absolute mess. Harry looked her in the eyes. “Hedwig, is everything okay?” he asked.

She gave a resigned chirp. 

“Oh, wow. I’m so sorry to hear that-- why did he break up with you?” 

This elicited a rather loud and painful sob. Harry thought that with all the tears coming down, he might need to get the owl’s cage some plumbing. He knew that the local Metropolitan Sewer District (MSD) ensured that the city was safe from storms. He thought maybe he could get some storm drains installed in this cage to protect both the city and Hedwig. After a moment, Hedwig gave another chirp.

“Wow, that is fucked up of him,'' Harry replied. He was thinking about what Ron might say in that moment. Ron was great at knowing the right thing to say when your boyfriend had just broken up with you because your claws were too long and your feathers weren’t bright enough. Harry thought this boyfriend of Hedwig's was a real bag of potatoes. Harry thought that owls probably didn’t love fish, and probably had no respect for the ways of the fishermen. But his heart ached seeing Hedwig's heart so entirely broken like this. 

“Do you want to sleep in the bed with me tonight?” he asked Hedwig. She looked up with bright eyes. Harry almost never asked her this. It was a grand treat. She chirped happily in response, and he opened the blankets to let her in. Harry knew he would regret this in the morning. He hated how feathers would get in his bed, and how he would have to clean out the bird poop from the sheets. But he knew it was what Hedwig needed in that moment-- and after all, he was trying to be a better owl owner.


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Flirt with a Fish Once

The next morning at the Fish Fry, Harry had barely walked in the back door when he heard yelling. “The health inspector is coming!” Oscar barked at him. 

“When?” Harry asked. He wanted to make sure that if it was tomorrow, he didn’t put in all his energy today. 

“We don’t know. It could be any day,” his boss replied.

Just then, a man in a bright purple suit, a green Fitbit, a hat that read ‘I’m with the health department’ (with a little arrow pointing to his left) and Ray-Ban sunglasses moonwalked in. Additionally, he had a cool pet lizard on his shoulder, and he was holding a brown clipboard. 

“Shit, that’s him!” Oscar said. 

“How do you know?” Harry asked.

“That’s their uniform.” 

“Oh.” 

Seeing their uniform kind of made Harry want to become a health inspector. Ray-Bans were cool, and purple was an underrated color in the fashion world. But Harry knew that becoming a health inspector, while it did seem fun, would distance him from fish. So he knew he would never really make an effort towards that daydream. 

“Ho ho ho hem, why yellow there Mr. Oscar,” said the health inspector. Harry was thrown off by how this man spoke. His h’s sounded like double yous. His double yous sounded like w’s. “I see you’ve made quite an effort this time, but have you even cracked open the restaurant health code?”

“Hell no I ain’t. We are men of fish in this building, and men of fish don’t read,” Oscar told him. Harry had never felt prouder of his boss, ever. He was so brave, standing up to the health inspector like that. Harry vowed never to read again, though he might make an exception for the L.L. Bean catalog. That was the Vogue magazine of the fishing world. 

“You have quite a dedication to fish. The cabin boys over at the Long John Silvers next door-- well they read,” the health inspector told them. His lizard seemed unimpressed. 

“Ain’t no men of fish then,” Oscar sneered. He hated that Long John Silvers. He hated the color yellow, and couldn't believe anyone would use it for their restaurant. He would often go around saying that the only good thing yellow was for was sunflowers. Harry didn’t think that, though. Harry thought, the only thing yellow is good for is sunflowers -- and that one Hufflepuff boy who has my heart. 

The health inspector began walking around the Fish Fry. His pointed nose seemed to sneer at everything in the building. Harry had never seen a person walk past the hilarious talking fish on the wall and not have a smile on their face. The fish fry had an entire wall dedicated to these. There were at least 50 of them, and they were set off by motion. They were always going off, singing songs over one another. It was a true bluegill cacophony. “Well, that's a few points down for the noise complaints,” the health inspector noted, marking his clipboard. 

Next, the inspector walked over to the party room. It had not been cleaned since Dudley’s party. There were still streamers up, and cake was laying there, abandoned by Dudley. There were some fish-shaped balloons deflating on the ground. The remnants of Harry’s pinata were still scattered about. “Party decorations but no party, that’s another 5 points down,” said the purple-suited man.

Finally, the health inspector walked to the back of the store. The lizard on his shoulder made a delighted hissing noise. He walked by Harry’s dishwashing station and commented, “Wow, this is truly the most gorgeous, well-kept dishwashing station I have ever seen! Where is the store’s dishwasher?!” Arnold pressed his hand into Harry’s back, forcing him towards the health inspector, who nodded. “Good job, boy,” he said. Harry felt nothing but vitriol for this fish-hating man. 

Then, in the blink of an eye, it happened. A mouse ran across the feet of the health inspector. The lizard leapt from the inspector’s shoulder and went after it. The mouse drew a sword and impaled the lizard. The lizard spoke a quiet monologue about the loves of his life, and died. The health inspector picked up the lizard and shed a single tear. He threw the lizard in the nearest trash can, said “Kobe,” and then drew from his pocket another lizard. “Oh god, what was that?!” he said, having missed the mouse. 

“Just me-- touching your feet with my feet!” Harry's mind was moving quickly. He had to come up with something. “I was...trying to flirt,” he explained.

The health inspector looked taken back. “I’m at least 10 years older than you. Please, hit on people your own age.”

Harry gained a small amount of respect for the health inspector. He was mostly glad the health inspector hadn’t noticed the mouse. The inspector, meanwhile, was finishing up his rounds. “Well, this was all okay I guess, but I’ll be back for a final review!” he said.

“Okay, see you then!” Oscar said as the health inspector moonwalked out of the building. He then turned to Harry. “Harry, please don't flirt with city officials, you don’t know what they’re capable of.” And with that, everyone got back to their usual fish duties. 

It had been a long day. Harry was exhausted by the time he walked up to the Dursley door. All he wanted to do was lay on his bed and think about fish for an hour and then go to sleep. But as he walked up to the door, he could hear a harsh wailing. For a second he thought that Moaning Myrtle might be visiting the house. But as he opened the door, he saw it was just Petunia, crying her eyes out in front of a stoic Vernon Dursley. Vernon rarely cried - in fact, the last time Harry saw Vernon cry was when there was a delay in drill production due to a worker’s strike. This must be serious, he thought. 

“Hey guys,” he said slowly. Internally, he hoped that aunt Marge had died, but he knew it could be that Dudley’s scaly disease had gotten worse. Harry often felt bullied by Dudley, but Dudley had backed off recently. Harry figured it was because he was such a good Fish Fry dishwasher and was rapidly becoming a better fisherman. But he didn’t really know.

“We-- we have to flush Dudley,” Petunia squeaked out. 

“Who?” Harry was confused. 

“Your cousin… he’s… he’s become a fish!” 

They gathered around the toilet bowl. Dudley had become a small fish, and they had put him in one of those round fishbowls which are really too small for any fish to live happily inside. Harry hoped this was not why Dudley had died. 

“Well, let’s say a few words,” Vernon said. It was obvious his drilling company concerns were more pressing than the matter of his son, who was a fish now. Harry wanted to yell at him, tell him that drilling was going to lead to the destruction of the fish habitats. That he was, in the grand scheme of things, killing his own son by even thinking about drills. 

“I… I… I can’t. Harry, you say something,” Petunia managed to say between sobs.

“There is nothing more beautiful in the world than a man and his fish. Fish are the most liberated of all the living species. Their freedom comes from their connection with the water, with their abilities to move in 360 degrees at all moments. Fish are incredible and freeing. Dudley may have passed on, but his new life as a fish will surely provide him with more opportunities than any of us could have ever imagined for ourselves.” Petunia was crying, even more than before Harry started his speech. Truly, Harry was proud of his cousin for becoming a fish. He was a little jealous, but knew that his cousin had put the work in, and reaped the reward.


	18. Chapter Eighteen: The Tri-Fish Tournament

Oscar had been hounding everyone for days. He was worried about the health inspector coming again. Ever since Harry had seen that first mouse, he kept seeing more mice. He was using his gun more than his sponge at this point. For a second he thought it might be the same ugly mouse, but honestly he was not a mouse-ologist and did not pay that much attention. 

“Harry! Can you stay an extra hour and help scrub the floors?” called Oscar.

“Of course, boss!” Harry appreciated how his boss asked him to stay an extra hour instead of demanding it of him. But he also felt pressure to say yes. Just then, the back door flew open, and Cedric was there. 

“Cedric, what are you doing here?”

“I just won a cool school thing, and used the prize money to get a plane directly from Hogwarts to you!” 

Harry noticed a plane flying off in the distance. Cedric’s story checked out. 

“Cedric! I can’t--”

“Shh, Harry, we don’t have time,” Cedric said. Harry dropped his mop and moved to hold Cedric. He put his head on Cedric’s chest. He glanced up and Cedric pressed a kiss on his cheek. All was well. 

Just then, a mouse scurried up to the couple, transformed into an ugly man, grabbed the couple, and transported them to the basement of Disney World London. There were some gross decorations, but it was also kind of cool to be backstage at Disneyland. 

“Kill the spare,” a second ugly (but skinny) man said. The mouse-man throat punched Harry's boyfriend. Cedric instantly died. Harry then recognized the mouse. It was the same mouse that had been hanging around the Fish Fry all these months. That mouse had cost them their B- health inspection rating. Harry fumed thinking about how there was now a C rating in the window of their restaurant. 

“Voldemort! How dare you! Not only did you kill my parents, but you also killed my first love interest! And on top of all that you sent a rat to my place of work-- causing all of us to fear that we might fail a health inspection! Damn you Voldemort,” he shouted. And for the first time in months, Harry picked up his wand and cast an Expelliarmus in Voldemort’s direction. Then he thought better and pulled out his gun, but he didn’t have any more bullets. 

“Harry Potter, you fool!”

The mouse man then took out a fish hook and slashed open a wound on Harry's arm. He put some of Harry’s blood into a potion which Voldemort used to recover his body. Then Harry noticed a large golden trophy in the background. He ran to it, and when he touched it he was transported to the quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. But it was overgrowing and there were a ton of people watching.

“Harry! You’re the Triwizard Tournament winner!” Dumbledore exclaimed. 

“What?! I’m a dishwasher at the Fish Fry!”


	19. Chapter Nineteen: Fish post Again

Harry was done with the wizarding world. Not only had a Dark Wizard taken his blood-- but that Dark Wizard had killed his mother, father, and his first kiss. Harry returned to his room in the Dursley’s, opened Hedwig's cage, and gave Hedwig his wand. Hedwig cast a quick Wingardium Leviosa on herself and flew away. 

“Wait!” cried Harry

Hedwig’s face, and only her face, did a 180.

“I’ll miss you,” Harry whispered.

Without hesitation, Hedwig cast an Avada Kedavra curse and Harry died. She then turned into an American-Korean-Snake-Lady-Animagus-of-all-animals-including-Hedwig-the-owl Nagini. She had done it -- she had killed Harry Potter. She turned back into Hedwig the owl and flew to Voldemort’s secret hideout in the basement of Disneyworld London. 

“Good job, Nagini,” Voldemort hissed.

“My name is actually Sandy,” Nagini/Sandy hissed in reply wishing that she went with her first instinct and let Harry Potter go on being a fish fry dishwasher.

“Good job, NAGINI THE SNAKE,” Voldemort bellowed. Peter Pettigrew and Nagini the Korean Snake Lady shied away from his roar. Naigni turned back into a snake and slithered around Disneyworld London, going on some of the more exciting rides, like the people mover and EPCOT. Later in the day, she would watch the fireworks in front of the castle and think up ways that she could please her friend and master Lord Voldemort. 

Later, Aunt Petunia and Vernon found Harry’s dead body upstairs. In addition to smelling like fish, it was also actively decomposing. They were too preoccupied with Dudley’s funeral arrangements to notice anything strange, so it took them about three days before they checked on Harry. The restaurant had trouble finding a dishwasher who was as good as Harry Potter-- but eventually an ugly child named Dobby came and took over the position. He stayed at the restaurant for 25 years before retiring at the ripe old age of 73.


End file.
